


Royals

by Isavuu



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Renaissance, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Amputation, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Blood and Injury, Childbirth, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Happy Ending, Minor Character Death, Pregnancy, Pregnant!Reader, Reader-Insert, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Time Skips, War, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-06 06:11:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 40,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14635716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isavuu/pseuds/Isavuu
Summary: You are the young queen of Sokovia, arranged to marry James Buchannan Barnes, next in line to the throne of England. However, this marriage has deeper implications than you know, and James is not the husband you thought he would be.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big shout out to Marshmalloween, who not only requested this fic, but also made such a sweet header image!

**Part One**

You stand with grace before the two heavy doors of the royal church. Breath labored from the corset squeezing your waist, but you look like a vision. The dress you wear is white, inlaid with gold thread and pearls. It continues beyond your feet, the train perfectly splayed out behind you amongst the white rose petals. Your fingers reach up instinctively to center the crown atop your head and the thin, golden veil that flows from underneath it. 

As the doors open, they expose the sea of people standing to get a view of you. All are dressed regally and the amount of jewels glittering against the sunlight streaming into the church must cost a fortune. You feel so incredibly alone amongst these strangers. Although you know there is music playing, all you can hear are your short breaths and the blood rushing through your ears. Your feet move without thought as you make your way down the long aisle lined with flowers and faces you don’t recognize.

This has been an inevitability since the day you were born into royalty in your home country, Sokovia. During your parents’ reign, your small, island country was overlooked by the rest of Europe. When they passed away, and you were crowned queen, the world realized the potential of Sokovia’s position in the Atlantic. Travel by sea, developing trade routes, and the discovery of new lands put your country in a very favorable location. The parliament decided to open your hand in marriage for a politically powerful union.

Suddenly, as you walk down this never-ending aisle, you remember sitting for your portrait. Your ladies in waiting dressed you in your finest gown and put almost every pearl you own around your neck and in your hair. After sitting for hours, the painter finally gave you a peak and you were so breathtakingly beautiful on his canvas. That painting was duplicated and sent around Europe to prospective suitors, and managed to find its way to England, where you walk now. You don’t know why, out of everything to think of, your mind wonders where those paintings are now. 

As you make it to the finale of the aisle, everyone is facing you, smiles beaming and all eyes soaking up how radiant you look in your wedding dress. Everyone except one man, who’s back is towards you, standing at the altar before an elderly priest. Your chest tightens as much as it can under your corset when he turns his head towards you. Although you can only see the profile of his face against the brown hair that touches his shoulders, you can tell that he is one of the handsomest men you have ever laid eyes on. 

Breathing is somehow even more difficult once you are standing next to him. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him watching you, and you desperately want to stare at him as well. You want to gaze over every inch of this man who is to be your husband. Your eyes quickly snap back to the priest standing in front of you as he starts the ceremony in his bellowing, deep voice. You can still feel the man’s eyes boring into you and you suddenly feel self-conscious, despite knowing how beautiful you look today.

Your eyes flit over and meet his for a split second, and you are bombarded with the intense blue of his irises. All you want is a second glance, and you thank God when the priest instructs you to face each other. You take a deep breath, your pushed-up chest heaving against the corset as you turn to face him. He is so incredibly striking, and you can tell under all his white and gold wedding garments that he is strong and muscular. 

However, he is not looking at you with the same inquisitiveness that is in your eyes. His brow is ever so slightly furrowed, like he is restraining himself from being visibly angry or upset. The plush lips that grace his face are in an indifferent straight line. As you slip your hands into his calloused fingers as is customary, you can see his jaw clench and his blue eyes go to the floor. 

Your own eyes widen in shock at his adverse reactions to you. It brings a pain worse than the constraint of your gown in your chest and stomach. In Sokovia, royal blood was never too terribly important to uphold, and all the weddings you had attended were for love. This was so jarring that you felt as though you might faint if not for the crowd of people watching. Sadness looms over you as you hear his voice for the first time, low and unfeeling. 

“I, James Buchanan Barnes, Duke of Cornwall, heir to the throne of England, take thee (Y/N) (M/N) (L/N), Queen of Sokovia, as my wife before the church.”

Your name on his lips sounds wrong, it is forced and unloving. You remember all the times you have cried with joy at the exchanging of vows in the weddings of your family and friends. He has your eyes locked with his once again, but they look empty, like the open ocean that surrounds your home, but with nothing on the other side. The words he just spoke spill out of your own mouth as you pledge yourself to the man before you. 

Your mind is elsewhere as you both swear to love and cherish each other until death, in sickness and health. It doesn’t feel like you are the one speaking, or that you are the one receiving a generously sized ruby ring to match the ones strewn across his chest. He lets go of your hands after the exchange and rests on one knee before you. You almost forgot that this was a double ceremony. Not only are you getting married, but Sokovia is also receiving a king. 

A crown that was shipped with you to England rests on a pillow held by a small altar boy. You wish you could muster an appreciative smile to him for holding this precious item, but your face is unmoving. It’s as if all the energy has been drained from your body by what you thought was supposed to be one of the happiest days of your life. You take the crown off its cushion and marvel at how much it looks like the one on top of your head. Gold encrusted with pearls and quartz. Not the most expensive, but valuable to those in Sokovia.

Once the crown is placed over his brown locks, and he stands once more, the crowd erupts in applause and praise. You can’t help but wonder what they are so excited for, as James does not seem to be very friendly, and none of them know you. Perhaps they are excited for the feast and wine waiting for you in the castle. Your fingers brush against his knuckles as you turn to face those cheering for you and he responds by coldly pulling his hand away. You feel as empty as your new husband’s eyes.

\--

Sitting at the head table in the huge banquet hall, you are reminded once again how alone you truly are here. James sat next to you for what felt like a second, before he joined his friends, standing and drinking around a table full of food. You watch him carefully, and every smile he gives a stranger is a stab in the heart. How uncaring that he could not offer his wife a single smile on their wedding day. 

You have been seated for hours, the plate of food that a servant placed before you has long turned cold, and your cup of wine remains full. Although musicians are playing their heart out, and many people of nobility are dancing in front of your table, no one has said a single word to you. Your hands are in your lap, rolling around a stray pearl that came loose from your dress between your fingers to keep them idle. Once again, your gaze finds James in the crowded room, and you watch his movements.

He is speaking to a large, blond man, who wears a crown bigger than his. They are smiling, and both greet a beautiful woman who approaches them. The brunette with curly hair and stained lips stops next to James, and he offers his arm to her. You are hit with another pang of sadness as he leads her to the middle of the hall, where others are dancing, until you realize who she is. The ornate crown among her brown hair, the magnificent jewels that lay around her neck, and the familial resemblance leads you to believe that she is the Queen Margaret of England, James’ cousin.

Everyone goes through the same steps to the music, parting from their partner and returning. Every time that James is close enough to her, the queen’s lips move rapidly, and she starts to glance over at you. James follows her line of vision, but any joy that was on his face has disappeared since the start of this conversation that you can only assume is about you. A tear rolls down your cheek and you quickly brush it off as Margaret abandons her cousin mid-dance and heads over to you.

“Your majesty,” she says as she reaches your table, bowing her head to you slightly. You are shocked that the beloved Queen of England would show you this much respect, and you quickly stand and return a curtsey as you mimic her words. She laughs and motions for you to sit back down as she comes around the side of the table to sit beside you, in the chair that was meant for your husband. “You’re my cousin now, you don’t have to curtsey,” she says with a smile on her ruby lips, “and please, call me Peggy.”

You nod and clear your throat that has become rough from not speaking since your ceremony. She pushes your cup closer to you and you graciously take a sip before speaking, “Thank you, Peggy, you’re the first person to come talk to me.”

The look on her face is genuine shock as she says, “Why wouldn’t anyone come over and congratulate the new bride?”

“Perhaps because her husband has already deserted her,” you mumble, and immediately regret saying such a poisonous thing to the subject’s family. 

Peggy responds simply by saying, “Bucky is like that sometimes, but he is a good man,” and you can tell by her facial expression, which she makes no effort to hide, that she pities you. 

“Bucky?”

“It’s from his middle name, Buchanan, there are a lot of James in the royal court and he has gone by Bucky since we were children.” You nod in understanding as her fingers come up to adjust your veil and you can’t help but wonder why she is being so casual with you. You guess she has truly already accepted you as family. 

After a couple of minutes of silence, her eyes sweep across the room and she sighs, “I remember my wedding day.”

You try to see what her eyes are focused on, and once again find James, or Bucky supposedly, next to that tall, blond man. “Is that you’re husband?”

“Yes, that’s Steve,” she says as she turns back to you with a smile, “Our wedding was not as well-attended as this one.” Her words surprise you, as you would have expected the monarch of England to have a lavish and expensive wedding attended by all of Europe’s royals. Peggy laughs at your confusion and explains, “He doesn’t have one drop of royalty in his blood. He was the captain of the castle guards, and no one wanted us to marry, but we did anyways. Since I can’t have children, I wanted to at least marry for love.”

You know you must look completely dumbfounded at all this information she is sharing with you. It feels like too much all at once after not having one simple conversation since leaving your island country. Standing abruptly, you excuse yourself from the table much to Peggy’s surprise. Balling up as much of your dress as you can, you rush to the nearest exit until you can taste the fresh air in your lungs. 

Out of breath already from the heavy fabric, you release the skirt of your gown and rest your hands on your corsetted stomach. You look so incredibly out of place amongst the greenery and stone of the castle with your extravagant wedding outfit. As you kneel onto the grass, you are aware of the stains and dirt on your white and gold skirt, but that is the last thing you should be worried about. 

The implications of Peggy’s confession swirl around in your mind. She can’t have children, and therefore cannot produce any heirs. James, Bucky, whatever his name may be, is next in line to the throne. This is suddenly not simply a marriage to ally two countries. Your children with this man who you have already come to detest will be the future royal bloodline to one of the most powerful countries in the world. The weight of this is too much for you to handle, and you sink further to the ground. Your fingers dig into the dirt as you try to calm your breathing. 

Unbeknownst to you, there is a shadow of a man in the doorway you fled from, viewing your undoing. His fists clench as he watches you fail to compose yourself, and your soft cries echo in the empty courtyard. He can hear his name being called from within the castle, urging him to rejoin the festivities, but he can’t tear his eyes away from you. There is nothing that he can do to console or help you, because he knows he is the root of the tears streaming down his wife’s cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooo, I’m so excited for this fic! It is… very much inspired by The Tudors and also an arranged marriage request from a frequent commenter, marshmalloween!  
> I apologize for any historical inaccuracies, but I have no desire to go back and fix them, so please refrain from pointing them out throughout the fic. It’s really hard to fit in modern/futuristic elements into a historical fic, so thanks for your patience!  
> Thank you so much to [racheltheclumsy](https://racheltheclumsy.tumblr.com/) for designing MC's [dresses!](https://racheltheclumsy.tumblr.com/post/177289928785/it-wouldnt-post-the-first-time-so-heres-take-2#notes)  
> As always, I update weekly and if you frequently comment on my works, you could earn a free request!


	2. Chapter 2

Weeks after the wedding and the festivities you were never truly apart of, you find yourself in the Cornwall castle that Bucky calls home. You are surprised at how much you like living in the old, stone building. Perfectly nestled between a small forest and a meadow, and not far from cliffs that lead to the ocean, it is more magnificent than you thought it would be. Inside are a sea of rooms, most with sheets covering the furniture, and dusty family portraits lining the hallways. A stable is near the entrance, and even though you have not gotten the chance to explore it, you have seen the horses grazing freely in the meadow. There are overgrown gardens surrounding the immediate castle grounds, and a pond with some cherry trees that you can see right outside your second story bedroom window. 

After unpacking most of your things in the bedroom you were given, you were relieved that you would not have to share a space with your husband. However, you were also surprised that he has not tried anything, let alone touched you at all since your union. If you and he were truly meant to give the English throne heirs, the future of the bloodline was starting to look dim. 

These thoughts and mixed feelings plague your mind on this early morning. The rising sun streams light onto the covers of your bed, and you bask in the warmth it brings. Birds chirp outside of your window, and a sense of calm and peace surrounds you. Pulling down your blankets, you get out of bed and consider getting dressed and fixing your hair, but decide against it. 

There was no need to pack all of your expensive gowns and jewelry, as there was no one to impress here but the help, and even they were few. There are about only ten servants in total, all in their older years and you think they have been working for Bucky’s family all of their lives. You accidently stumbled upon their quarter’s the other day and it felt nice to know that they all slept under the same roof, that it was not just you and Bucky. 

The thin linen of your sleeping gown is more than enough cover on this surprisingly warm spring day. It leaves little to imagine the outline of your body, and the thought of your husband seeing the sheer fabric and what it does not cover gives you some excitement. Although he is cold and distant to you, he is one of the most attractive men you have ever seen. You are only human, and it has been so long since you have touched another person, any attention would be welcome.

As you leave your room, you find your way to the kitchen, pleased with yourself that you have mentally mapped most of the castle. You do not stay too long, as to not startle the poor old cook with your state of undress. Snagging a couple of carrots from the counter, you head towards the entrance of the castle, towards the one place you have been curious about, but have not visited yet.

There are no horses on your island country, and although you have seen paintings and pictures of them in books, you had no idea they would be this giant and strong. You walk barefoot into the impressive stable, ignoring the feeling of dirt against the soles of your feet. Curious horse heads pop up from their stalls at your arrival, bigger than you imagined and each intriguing, but one catches your eye. In the stall nearest to you, a pitch-black horse stretches its neck over the wooden gate. His mane is long and wavy, and the rest of his coat is so shiny it looks like silk.

You are a little scared to approach closer, as the horse is so much larger than you, but you muster up the courage to take a few baby steps, hand reaching out with your offering of carrots. As soon as you are close enough, he eats them out of your palm, and you laugh at the feeling of the horse’s surprisingly soft lips against your hand. Once he is done with the treat you brought, and you have come a little closer, he leans over the gate to nudge at your body, trying to find if you are hiding more food. You can’t help but giggle when he nibbles at your sleeve while you pet the side of his neck. 

“Shield doesn’t usually like strangers,” a voice speaks, making you whip around, feeling like you have gotten caught being somewhere you are not allowed. 

Of course, the voice belongs to your husband, and his blue eyes flick over your revealing nightgown. He raises a brow as he takes a bite out of an apple he was holding. He also dresses much more casually in the comfort of his own home rather than the affluent fabrics and gems he had on in Peggy’s castle. Your arms immediately cross over your chest to cover yourself, cheeks heating in embarrassment and you regret your choice to not get dressed this morning. The horse you were petting, apparently named Shield, is still sniffing around you for more carrots, and prods your back with his nose, forcing you to step forwards. 

Bucky walks towards you as well and stops only a foot away from you. He offers the rest of his apple to his horse, then affectionately pushes the assertive animal’s neck so he will retreat into his stall. He looks down at you with mild amusement as you frown up at him. “You should not ride in what you’re wearing,” he says as his eyes scan down your body once more. 

Rolling your eyes, you tighten your arms around your chest and side step around him to leave the stable. You mentally chastise yourself for even thinking you would want his attention as every encounter with him leaves a bad taste in your mouth. How can he simultaneously say barely anything while also making you feel like a scolded child?

As you walk towards the entrance of the castle, stewing in your thoughts, you hesitate before going inside, looking down at your dirty feet. Not wanting to be a bother to the maids who clean the floors, you circle around and head towards the back of the castle, where the pond is. You can feel Bucky watching your every movement and you tread a little faster to escape his line of vision.

It is a long walk from one end of the castle to the other, and when you finally arrive at the pond, you are sweating and your feet are even dirtier. The sun is higher up in the sky now and relentlessly beating down on you. Summer seems to be coming quickly this year, and as you sit down on the edge of the water to rest, you pull up your sleepwear to your thighs. With a sigh of relief, you slip your feet into the cool pond. Splashing around to dislodge some of the dirt from your skin, you lay back on the grass. 

A small gust of wind shakes the trees surrounding the pond enough for them to release some cherry blossom petals that rain down onto you and the surface of the water. Smiling, you raise your arms to watch them swirl around your fingers before they land. You must admit that you are at least content with your living situation. The only thing missing was someone to share it with. As you lay your arms back down beside you, you think about the people you left behind.

In Sokovia, you had three loyal and dear ladies in waiting, but you could not bear to take them away from their families for your own selfishness. A part of you wishes you had as you lay alone under the cherry trees. You had expected that new ladies in waiting would be hired for you, but the people who work here are more for maintaining the castle than for company. Although one of the maids called May has taken a liking to you and offered to braid your hair the first evening you arrived. 

You pull your feet from the water and move your body to be more in the sun. The rays quickly dry your legs and the warmth feels so comforting that you begin to doze off. Before you can succumb to a nap, a snap of a branch startles you into sitting up. You twist your head around to see where it came from. Of course, it is Bucky who is walking towards you and stops by your feet. His brow is creased as he looks down at you and asks, “Are you okay?”

You push the linen back down over your legs before countering, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You were just lying there,” he says as he extends a hand to help you up.

Staring at his outstretched hand, you contemplate pushing it away and storming off for disturbing you, but he was only making sure you were okay. With a sigh, you take it and as he pulls you up, blossoms fall from the fabric of your nightgown and your hair. Standing so close to him, with your hand in his makes those feelings you experienced at the altar come crashing back. You wrench your hand away from his and you can feel how hard your heart is beating in your chest. He even has the same indifferent yet somehow pained expression he wore on your wedding. The only difference is that his gorgeous blue eyes do not seem as empty, but the look on his face when he first saw you is one that haunts you.

Bucky steps out of your way as you rush back into the castle, your emotions getting the best of you. Just as you were feeling comfortable here, he has to show up at every turn and twist your feelings like a knife in your chest. You wonder why you let his presence bother you so much as you make your way back to your bedroom. Maybe it is the overwhelming loneliness that you still feel even in his company. Maybe it is the fact that you are supposed to spend the rest of your life with someone who does not even make an attempt to get to know you. Maybe it is the expectations of this loveless marriage that weigh on you every time you see him or hear him speak. 

Even without a corset on, it feels hard to breathe, so you move to your open window for some fresh air. Resting your palms on the windowsill and closing your eyes, you take a deep breath of the spring breeze flooding into your room and feel a sense of calm when the smell of the cherry blossoms takes over. When your breathing begins to feel normal again and the negative emotions bubbling up in your chest subside, you open your eyes again and look down to the pond. 

Bucky is still standing there, looking at his hand. You lean forward out of curiosity and see that he is holding a couple of the flower petals in his palm. He stretches out his fingers and lifts his arm, letting the wind carry the blossoms out of his hold. You can’t bring yourself to look away, even when he turns and spots you in the window. From your high vantage point, you can see the blue in his eyes, and the pity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, how I’d love to live in a castle in the countryside. Again, sorry for historical mistakes, but I’d rather not know about them, lmao.   
> Thank you so much to [racheltheclumsy](https://racheltheclumsy.tumblr.com/) for designing MC's [dresses!](https://racheltheclumsy.tumblr.com/post/177289928785/it-wouldnt-post-the-first-time-so-heres-take-2#notes)  
> If you comment frequently on a bunch of my works, you could earn a free fic request!


	3. Chapter 3

In the week that passes, it feels like Bucky is around every corner you turn, at the end of every hallway, and never far behind you. He is like a ghost that haunts your every move. It would annoy you if you were not so lonely here. He is clearly going out of his way to be near you and it at least sometimes comforts your feelings of being unwanted. However, he still rarely talks to you, or even looks you in the eye, and when he does, it just upsets you. You do not want to think about how his voice and his eyes are going to be with you for the rest of your life. 

After finding the library, you have been immersing yourself in all of the old books, trying to distance yourself from your reality with your imagination. They are also a good distraction from Bucky’s presence as you can ignore him easier with a story in your hands. You read curled up by the window of the library, with candlelight in your room, and leaning against the trees by the pond. It amazes you how you can spend hours pouring over a book, and you hope that it bores Bucky from watching you.

You have been awake since the sun rose, still under your blankets with your nose in a book. You expect to be left alone until you come down for breakfast as has been the usual since you have arrived, but a knock on your door brings your attention away from the novel. As you sit up, your favorite maid, May, lets herself in and bids you a good morning.

“Is there something wrong?” you ask, even though the smile on her face, and the bundle of supplies in her hands does not seem too terribly concerning.

“No, your majesty, it’s time to have your wedding portrait done and I thought I would help you get ready,” she seems to cut herself off from adding to her offer, and you assume it is because you have made no effort in your appearance since you arrived.

“Oh,” you say plainly as you step out of bed and tuck your book away. Sitting next to Bucky to be painted for hours was not on your mental itinerary for the day, but you really had nothing better to do so you could not oppose.

As you sit down on your desk chair, she gets right to work with your hair and face. It feels nice to be pampered and to have a comforting touch once again. As your hair is played with and sweet-smelling oils are rubbed into your skin, you realize how much you missed the physical touch of someone caring about you. May helps you into your clothes, tightening your corset as you suck in your breath and putting the heavy fabric of your dress over you. She chooses a deep red gown that matches the ruby ring Bucky put on your finger in the church. To your surprise, she leaves your neck mostly bare except for a single strand pearl necklace to match your pearl encrusted crown. 

You touch the ocean jewels carefully and smile at her, extremely grateful for her attention and help. You are even more grateful when she does not make you wear shoes, since you would not be able to see them under your huge skirt and you have gotten used to that freeing feeling of being barefoot. May takes her things and lets you have a moment alone before you must join Bucky and the painter downstairs. Smoothing out your skirt and resting your hands on your cinched waist, you get used to the weight of your dress and the pain of beauty once again.

As you descend the staircase carefully, you are mildly surprised to see Bucky at the bottom, waiting for you. He is dressed well and has the same red jewels across his chest and the crown you gave him on the day of your marriage. Seeing him at the end of the stairs reminds you of how he was standing for you at the finish of the church aisle and your chest tightens. Your thoughts frequently go back to your wedding day, dwelling on it and Bucky’s face never fails to bring you back. It feels like the source of the depression that lingers in the back of your mind even though you have been content for the most part in this castle. 

Your good mood is ruined at simply the sight of him watching you come down the stairs with his lips pressed into tight line. A frown graces your lips as you take his arm when he offers it. Averting your gaze to the ground as he leads you to the room where you will be painted, you can feel his silent eyes on you. The artist chooses a sitting room with lots of natural light. You look out the window to avoid Bucky’s stare, spinning the ruby ring around your finger as the other man prepares his paints while he asks what position you would like to be posed in. 

Feeling every inhale burning a little bit more with each breath, you ask if you can sit down and a chair is pushed towards you by one of the servants. With a thanks and a small sigh of relief, you sit with a straight posture and adjust your dress while Bucky moves to stand beside the chair. One of his arms rests on the back of it, and you politely fold your hands in your lap, so you do not try to further toy with your clothes or jewelry. 

Sitting for your portrait is tedious and boring. You have done it on multiple occasions, as has Bucky and every other person of royalty or those who can afford it. Trying your best to keep eye contact with the artist with a hint of a smile, you find yourself already staring blankly within the first hour. This will most likely take all day, and when you quickly glance up at Bucky, you see that he is already looking at you.

After a few more moments in silence, he finally breaks it, “You seem to be enjoying yourself here.”

“Oh?” you respond while staring straight ahead, “What makes you think that?”

“You’ve been treating this place as your home.”

Knowing he is referring to the lack of clothing you wear, you can’t help but smirk a little. It has not only been for the comfort, but to frustrate, confuse, or get any sort of reaction from the man without allowing him to act on it. “Well, is it not my home now?”

He hums an affirmation and goes quiet once again. Your heart is beating faster than it was, and you almost immediately miss talking to him, to somebody. To not look too desperate for conversation, you wait another hour before saying something else to him, even though every minute is agony, the words burning the tip of your tongue.

When you speak again, you can hear his clothing rustle behind you, “You have a beautiful library.”

“You will have to thank Rebecca for that,” he replies, and you contemplate who that is before he answers your unspoken question, “My sister, she’s the one who demanded it be full.”

“Sister,” you say, mostly to yourself, and you think of the portraits of his family and how you were so caught up in yourself and Bucky that you missed the younger girl in the paintings.

“She also wrote that she’s sorry she missed the wedding, but she’s looking forward to meeting you some day,” he says casually, and you turn your whole body around to look up at him, much to the artist’s distress.

“You wrote about me?” your voice seems smaller, and you are desperate to know what words he has to say about you. He does not seem as cold as he was the day you met him, and you wonder if he will ever look at you or consider you without thinking of pity. 

“I told her I got married,” he says and for some reason, the little spark of something in your chest is quenched. So he did not write anything of substance about you, he only clinically informed his sister that he was wed. It feels like another twist of the knife he put into your chest the moment he saw you. You turn back in your seat and raise your hand apologetically to the artist, who scoffs at you moving even more. 

Ruminating in your exchange, and of course thinking back to your wedding day, you sit for a couple more hours. You can hear Bucky sighing and shifting his weight between legs occasionally, and you would be impressed with his ability to stand perfectly still for hours if you were not so deep in your thoughts. A part of you had hoped he would say that he did write about you, that he made some effort to include you in his family. The other, darker, part of you is happy to dwell on the negatives, to keep hating him for little reason besides the basis of your first encounter.

When the painter finally allows a breather, you stand immediately and May, who was waiting by the door, comes in. She hands you a bowl of fruit and you realize that you have not eaten all day. The corset that you have gotten used to once again managed to quell your hunger, but the moment food is within your reach your stomach growls. You do not even notice Bucky removing his crown and leaving the room to stretch his legs or the painter exiting for a break as well. 

As you eat your fruit, May sneaks over to the canvas to see how the painting is coming along. She gasps and puts a hand over her chest exclaiming, “Oh, you look so beautiful your majesty!”

Out of curiosity, and a bit of vanity, you go to her side for a peak. The face that is looking back at you is off. The artist painted a smile on your darkened lips, but it is not your smile. You do not recognize the unnatural thing and you realize that he faked it. Then you look into your own eyes, which he got dead right and it makes it all somehow worse. Looking back at your empty, glazed over eyes makes your stomach drop. Is that how you really look to him? False smile and hollow eyes?

May has taken your empty bowl from you and left you to examine the portrait. Anger is building in your chest as you eye the artist’s palette, full of the thick oil paints. This is not how you want to be remembered. If you were to be a part of history, you did not want to be a vacant body of what used to be a proud and poised queen. You scoop the paint into your palms like a bear scraping out honey from a beehive and press your hands onto the canvas. 

Smearing the pigments over your own, dissimilar face to erase it gives you some satisfaction. The bend of the canvas underneath the pressure makes you want to rip the whole thing apart. Just as you are about to dig your fingers into the thin material, you see how the painter depicted Bucky. Instead of looking forward, your husband was looking at you, his profile strong and handsome in the painting. You doubt that he was looking at you for that long during the sitting, and it just upsets you further as something else that the artist probably manufactured.

With a loud rip, your nails tear into the canvas and completely destroy what was left of the painting. Looking down at your paint stained hands, you see that they are shaking. You want to wash all of the oil and emotion off of you and disappear into the woods or the comfort of your bed. Regret starts to sour your stomach as you look at the huge mess you made. Turning on your heel to rush out of the room and escape the situation, you collide into Bucky’s chest. 

He was standing in the doorway, watching everything you did without saying a word before you ran right into him. His hands move to gently hold your wrists and you know you could easily tug out of his grasp if you desired to, but you do not want to. The look in his eye is something that you have not seen from him before and it just confuses you further. The way you feel about him is getting mixed the more time you spend here, and the part of you that desperately wants to run away and hide is screaming inside your mind.

“It’s okay,” he whispers before the artist comes back into the room and starts yelling. You cringe at his raised voice and cover your ears to block it, paint rubbing off onto your face and hair. He has every right to shout at you, his arduous work for the day squandered and the expensive materials you wrecked are something you would be upset over as well. 

One of Bucky’s arm wraps protectively around your torso, bringing you into his chest as his deep, cold voice is directed to the painter. It is the same voice he used during your vows and it scares you to your core. It had made your heart drop to your stomach when you first heard it, but when it is directed at someone else it makes him seem powerful. You hide your face in the fabric of his over-shirt as he says, “How dare you speak to a queen like that you filthy cur? Get the hell out of here. Now, or else.”

His terrifying voice and thinly veiled threat must have worked because the yelling stops and after a few moments Bucky’s arm leaves your back. Your hands drop from your ears, and you can feel the oil residue on your skin. Your ribs are aching against the tightness of your corset and gown. When he talks again, all coldness has gone from his words, he speaks softly as he looks down at you, “I didn’t like the painting either.”

Why is he treating you so kindly after what he put you through during your first days in England? You can’t help but assume he has some ulterior motive to suddenly regarding you as something other than a housemate. As you wrack your mind trying to think of what he could possibly want from you, he reaches to take your hand, lifting it and pulling off the ring he gave you that is now covered in paint. Snatching your hand away from his fingers as you have done before, you feel an uncomfortable wave of guilt when you see the muscles of his jaw clench under his stubble.

His face has hardened from the sympathetic look he had, he parts his lips to talk, but you shake your head and back away from him. Your emotions have gone through many peaks and valleys already today, and you do not want to hear anything else he has to say on the matter. Mentally, you have tired yourself out, and the lack of moving and food has weakened your body as you can still feel your hands shaking at your sides. 

Grabbing the skirt of your gown, unknowingly dying the fabric with color, you race back up the stairs. Bucky silently watches your escape before he looks down at his hands, his stained fingertips and the ruby ring that has been dulled from the oil. He orders one of the servants that gathered when the yelling started to pay the artist and hands the ring to May as he says, “Take care of this, and take care of her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank the lord for May, and you can expect an appearance from both Rebecca and Peter later on in the fic!  
> Thank you so much to [racheltheclumsy](https://racheltheclumsy.tumblr.com/) for designing MC's [dresses!](https://racheltheclumsy.tumblr.com/post/177289928785/it-wouldnt-post-the-first-time-so-heres-take-2#notes)  
> Comment frequently on my fics to earn a free request! Sorry for all the angst lmao, love you guys!


	4. Chapter 4

You have laid in bed for three days now, only leaving the comfort of your blankets to look despondently out your window. It is as though you have been inside your own head for these past few days, as nothing May says as she delivers food or helps you bathe gets through. You think you have seen Bucky’s shadow in your doorway, but you just turn over in bed and pull the covers over yourself to hide. Depression has taken ahold of you in its talons and refuses to let go. 

Every night you have the same nightmare that wakes you in a cold sweat. You are standing barefoot at the end of the aisle in the church you were married in with your golden gown and veil. The ground is littered in roses with their thorns and the soles of your feet are hurting. You are completely alone until someone grabs your arm, harshly and with a touch as cold as a corpse. He turns you around so violently that you fall to your knees, your crown clattering to the ground and the thorns and petals swallow it whole. 

You always look up and see Bucky’s dark face, his eyes empty and his skin pale, but his lips look like the rubies around his chest and on your finger. He releases your arm only to grab a handful of your veil and hair. Suddenly, the church is full of people you do not recognize as he pushes your face into the thorns. They are laughing at you, with mouths full of the food and wine from the reception. They feast as your husband mars your face, blood pooling around you and getting into your eyes and mouth. It is hot and sticky and when you finally scream for help you wake up. Even the naps you take to make up for the lost sleep are plagued with these horrible dreams that you can’t run away from. 

On this day, you have been awake for hours, and watched the sun rise from the comfort of your bed. Your stomach growls with hunger as you glance at your closed door. May should have been here with your breakfast by now as the morning transitions to the afternoon. After another hour of waiting, with your arms around your complaining stomach, you come to the realization that she is not coming. 

Almost certain that this is a ruse to get you out of your bedroom, you weigh the options. A particularly loud grumble from your midsection breaks your concentration and makes you sigh, hunger winning the dilemma. Climbing out from under the safety of your blankets, you pull on a clean, simple dress and run your fingers through your hair a couple of times. 

You slowly open your door and take a couple of steps out into the vast hallway. Every step feels heavy, and the pin prick sensation on the bottoms of your feet remind you of the thorns in your dream. Holding carefully onto the banister of the staircase as you descend, you see May at the bottom, sweeping up dust. 

When she looks up and sees you, relief washes over her face, but she stays silent. You want to frown at her, to show your displeasure at being forced to leave your room. But she has been the one taking care of you since you arrived, and being cruel to her would only make you more depressed. Pushing those rude and childish thoughts aside, you offer a smile before roaming to the dining hall.

Even before you reach the room, the heavenly smells immediately make your mouth water. You quicken your pace, face lighting up when you see all of the food laid out on the wood. Then you see him, your husband, standing next to the feast with his hand on top of the seat at the head of the table. You can’t help your expression drop to a stunned sadness at the sight of him, and you can see his jaw clench and him shifting awkwardly in his stance.

Guilt washes over you as you try to separate the Bucky from your nightmares from the one who has been at least somewhat hospitable since returning to his castle. His blue eyes fall to the floor as he pulls the chair out and gestures for you to sit. While you approach, you study his face. Your dreams have been warping his features in your mind and even though it has only been a couple of days, you had almost forgotten how handsome he is.

As you sit, Bucky pushes in your chair, then takes the seat next to you. You take off the cover of your plate, and see that your food has already been served for you. Too hungry to care, and although your food is no longer hot, you politely, yet hurriedly eat. The awareness of Bucky’s eyes on you grows stronger as your immediate hunger is satiated. 

Finally, he speaks up, “Why didn’t you like the painting?”

Covering your lips as you finish chewing to indicate that your mouth is full, your eyes lock with his. God, they are so blue. You swallow, and he pushes a cup of water towards your hand. Taking a small sip before you answer, you calculate what you are going to say before replying, “It wasn’t me.”

Bucky tilts his head to the side ever-so-slightly, as if looking for further explanation, and his hair brushes against the stubble of his cheek. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, his face only distracting you from organizing the thoughts that have been so abstract since you destroyed the painting. It is hard to concentrate, and you are only frustrating yourself by not being able to transform your ideas into words. 

“It wasn’t me,” you repeat, and press your palms against your eyelids. As you try to calm yourself down, so you will not cry in front of your husband, you feel fingertips graze against one of your wrists. You ignore the feeling until he gently pulls your hand away from your face. His touch is so warm it is comforting. If it was ice cold like in your dreams, you would have bolted out of the room without a second thought. 

You pull your other hand down your face and open your eyes to see that he is leaning against the table to reach you, his hand still around your wrist. It further confuses your mangled thoughts to feel how warm he is against your skin and to see the concern in his eyes. Failing to contain your tears, they drip down your cheeks as you whimper, “Why are you doing this to me?”

His brow furrows at your question as he reluctantly pulls his hand away from you. You do not expect him to answer as you pull your arms to your chest and try to stop crying. His eyes bore into yours as he says in a quiet voice, “(Y/N), I am so sorry.”

The last thing you were expecting was an apology, and it only makes more questions pile into your already crowded mind. Sniffling, you wipe your cheek and watch him rest back against his chair. The worry in his face has changed to something that looks like regret. “Why?” you ask again, your voice growing weak from the lump in your throat. 

“I never wanted to get married, I did not want to pull some innocent girl into this. I have done enough for this country and the crown, I just wanted to be left alone, but it was out of my hands. I’m sorry,” he apologizes once more.

“Wha-… What?” All this time you thought it was you. That the moment he met _your_ eyes he was disappointed that it was _you_ standing next to him at the altar. Although the burden of birthing heirs felt like a weight tied around your ankles, you did not consider what kind of burden it was like for Bucky to be next in line for the throne. 

He sighs, and his face is bathed in contemplation before he removes his shirt over his head and lets it drop to the ground. Your eyes widen when you see his broad chest, toned muscles, and imperfect skin. There are scars riddled across his torso, particularly bad over his heart and onto his bicep. You are honestly surprised that he is alive and sitting across from you in perfect health, as a weaker man would have succumbed to these injuries or the subsequent infections. You lift your hand with the intent to brush your fingers across a scar on his ribs, but pull it back to your body.

His face has hardened, the muscles in his jaw are tight with tension, but his eyes are full of grief as he says, “Under my uncle’s rule, we were at war with France for so long. I led the army for years, ever since I was eighteen, to toughen me up. I didn’t… I am not the same as I was. Peggy has brought peace, and she has let me be here alone. Then you come along.”

You are not crying for yourself anymore, you are crying for that smirking teenager you have seen in the family portraits of the castle that was thrown into war, and for the broken man in front of you now. His blue eyes are boring into you, and you can see that he truly feels remorse for putting your emotions through a wringer. After wiping your cheeks on the sleeve of your dress, you rest your hand over his, the first time you have touched him because you truly wanted to.

“I am sorry, (Y/N),” he says for a third time, and you nod while you try to contain your crying, “I didn’t want this for myself, and I didn’t want it for you. Being married to me is the worst thing that could have happened to you, but I can’t stand to see you break down in front of me.” 

It is not like you can argue, this marriage has sent you spiraling into a depression that has kept you bed ridden for days. You sniffle and move your hand up to his forearm, your thumb silently swiping over a gash that has long been healed but will forever be on his skin. Maybe that’s what he will be to you, something that hurt for days, weeks, but will ultimately be okay. You will heal from this, perhaps with him, and you will carry it with you always. There is a headache building in your temples, and you close your eyes again to refocus your thoughts. They are still clustered and distant from your depressive episode and comparing your husband to a scar seems trivial once the pain intensifies.

You can feel him move his arm out from under your hand, and although your head is now pounding within your skull, you reopen your eyes. From his pocket, he produces a familiar ruby ring, now sparkling like it was the first time you received it rather than covered in oils and pigments. He presses it into your palm before standing and recovering his shirt from the ground.

You watch him leave, his shoulders hunched with defeat and his hands shoved into his pockets. It took him this long to reveal something personal to you, and you wish that he had confided in you earlier in your marriage. Your heart beats differently for him now, the feeling towards him starting to transform and you urgently want to know more of him. But the headache that is now radiating down your neck stops you from running after him. Slipping the ring back onto your finger, you retreat back into your room and under your covers, finally having a dreamless rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depression…. Probably wasn’t a word in this time period, but everyone gets it at some point in their life. Poor dear Bucky just wanted to be left alone, but he never gets what he wants haha.  
> Also, this is late, but I envision May as Aunt May from the first Spiderman movies, my fav… but Peter will be Spiderman: Homecoming Parker!  
> Thank you so much to [racheltheclumsy](https://racheltheclumsy.tumblr.com/) for designing MC's [dresses!](https://racheltheclumsy.tumblr.com/post/177289928785/it-wouldnt-post-the-first-time-so-heres-take-2#notes)  
> Those of you who comment frequently on multiple fics of mine can earn a fic request! I love and appreciate you all so much.


	5. Chapter 5

When you wake in the dead of the night, moonlight filtering through your curtains, you are relieved that your headache is gone. However, now you are wide awake while everyone else in the castle is dreaming. You get up and leave the dress you fell asleep in on, the light fabric enough for the cool, yet increasingly warming nights. Finally feeling mentally well enough to read, you light a candle and head silently towards the library. 

You step on the tips of your toes, the old wooden floors of the castle seeming to creak more when you are trying to be quiet. One of the rooms on the way to the library is lit with candlelight as well, and you pause halfway in the doorway. You suck in a breath when you see Bucky shirtless, sitting on the edge of his bed and pulling off his muddy riding boots. He must have just gotten back from a midnight ride, and even in the low light from the candles, you can see the marks on his naked chest. 

He looks up after both of his boots are off, the new source of light coming from you catching his attention. Those blue eyes take a moment to look over your curious face before speaking, “You can come in if you want to.”

Although you have explored most of the castle by now, you have yet to step foot into his chambers, and it feels like a privacy you have only just earned from your talk earlier in the day. Blowing out your little flame and setting the candle down on the ground, you enter his bedroom. You stand awkwardly a few feet in, glancing around the huge room that is not lit brightly enough for you to make much out, before returning to his gaze. Smoothing the material of your dress, Bucky glimpses down your body and you can see the corner of his lips turn up when he sees the ruby on your hand glint in the dim light. 

You are not sure what to say, or whether to sit or stand. Shifting your weight between your feet, you clear your throat before asking, “Why doesn’t your family live with you?”

There is a flash of pain on his face that makes your stomach twist. You hope you didn’t say something wrong that could send him back to being silent towards you. You are relieved to hear him speak, and he breathes deeply before replying, “Rebecca lives in France.”

You crease your brow in confusion. He had just told you that England and France were at war for years, so why is she with the enemy? Before you even get the chance to ask, he continues, “She is engaged to the prince, it’s part of the peace treaty. I don’t like it, but she doesn’t seem to mind, and they treat her well. She sends me gifts all the time.”

The soft smile on your lips is mirrored by your husband. The more he talks, the more the man of stone who ignored you on your wedding day is replaced by this multifaceted person with history and feelings. You don’t want him to ever stop talking. The consideration to ask about his father crosses your mind, but you know that for Bucky to be next in line for the throne, he must have passed away. The fact that he has not spoken of his mother either leads you to assume she has also passed on. He knows that for you to be queen, your parents had to die as well, or else you think he would have politely inquired about your family.

You both question each other about casual things, he asks about Sokovia and you ask about the history of the castle. He tells you about his horses and you tell him about collecting oysters to find pearls as a child. You ask about the servants who have lived here for what seems like forever, and he asks about the books he has seen you reading. With every answer you seem to gravitate closer to where he is seated on his bed, until you finally sit beside him. There is one thing that is pressing on the tip of your tongue that has been haunting you since your wedding. 

“Are you aware that Peggy can’t have children?” you ask during a lull in the conversation, your voice shaking at the end of your sentence, and you have to avert your gaze after it has left your lips.

He takes a while to answer, and you stare at his floor, the grain of the wood dancing in the candlelight, “Yes.”

“So, you must know what that means,” you swallow before flicking your eyes back to his face, “… for us?”

The relaxed expression he had is gone as his jaw tightens. You have seen him do that enough to know that when the muscles clench under his stubble he is bothered. “There are expectations,” he says vaguely.

“Rebecca would take the crown after you and Peggy, and if she marries the prince, then France would have control over both England and Sokovia. So, if we don’t…” you trail off as you go through the logistics, and you consider the scars that the French gave your husband. Your heart worries for your home country and the people that you left to be here.

His hand instinctively goes up to brush the biggest scar connecting his shoulder and chest. From what you have heard and seen of Peggy, you know that she is quite clever. Bucky has to know this too. She may have allowed Rebecca to be engaged into the French royal family, but she set up your arranged marriage to her cousin to combat the French’s reach into England. The burden suddenly feels heavier and any trace of a smile you had from your previous conversation with your husband is gone as you go through your options.

You have only just opened up to each other in the past day. It feels so new, like you met your husband for the first time today. But now this marriage has an obligation that is bigger than you thought. The future of both Sokovia and England rests with you and Bucky. He is lost in thought as well, and when you break the silence he snaps out of his mind to listen, “I think we have to.”

“We don’t have to do anything,” he says defensively, and you remember his words from earlier. He truly has already given so much to his country, and it feels wrong to pile even more responsibilities onto him. Especially one as serious as bringing a child into this world and this life. 

“Bucky,” you whisper, and it is like his whole demeanor melts when his name is on your lips. You have not said his name since your vows in the church, and it feels so easy. It rolls off your tongue and tastes like sugar in your mouth. When he smiles at you, you immediately return it, and you love seeing his plush lips curled up rather than pressed together in apathy. 

The candles have been burning for hours while you spoke to each other, down to the last few drops of wax and wick. They don’t seem as bright as the sky lightens outside of Bucky’s window. In the new light, you can see the bags under your husband’s eyes, and you realize that he did not get the midday nap like you took for your headache. Eyes widening, you apologize as you stand, “Oh, I kept you up, I am so sorry.”

He stands with you, hands reaching out as he takes a step forward, saying “No, it’s fine. I’m glad you came.” His fingers wrap around your wrist, and he brings up your hand with the ring he gave you on it. The callous skin of his hands on yours raises goosebumps under the sleeves of your dress, and you look up at his blue eyes while he examines the ring. “It suits you,” he says quietly as he rests your arm back down to your side. 

If you had not just kept him up all night, you would have wanted to stay longer. You missed having someone to talk to, and anything to help you wash over your first impressions of him has helped your mood. Even the cruel Bucky of your dreams seems like a distant worry when you look into his deep blue eyes. They are truly like the ocean that surrounds your country, not empty anymore, but full of life deep within the surface. 

With one hand quickly pressed to his chest, you stand up on your toes to leave a kiss on his cheek before you hastily turn on your heel and leave his room. You don’t even bother picking up the candle you set by his doorway as you rush to your bed, your dress in handfuls so you don’t trip. Shutting your bedroom door behind you, you rest your back against the hard wood and let out a deep breath. How quickly everything can change with one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst and slow burn is finally letting up, those of you who’ve been with me since Touch Starved know that good stuff is coming very soon! Luv you guys, xoxo!  
> Thank you so much to [racheltheclumsy](https://racheltheclumsy.tumblr.com/) for designing MC's [dresses!](https://racheltheclumsy.tumblr.com/post/177289928785/it-wouldnt-post-the-first-time-so-heres-take-2#notes)  
> If you want to earn a free request be a frequent commenter on my fics!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mature content ahead ;)

The air is different in the following weeks as you and your husband become friends out of the strangers that you used to be. He no longer lingers in the hallways, opting to sit with you in the library, writing to his sister as you read. Walks around the castle grounds are daily, and you recently started linking your arm with his. You have dinner together every evening, talking for hours while your food gets cold and the sun falls. It is such a breath of fresh air to have someone to truly spend time with in this unfamiliar country.

Your mood has improved so much since those dark days spent alone in your bedroom and the change could almost give you whiplash. You wake up every day excited for your routine and to learn more about the man you live with. However, neither of you mention the topic that is weighing on both of your shoulders. You find yourself thinking about it as you try to drift off to sleep, and it keeps you up. The idea of having a child with Bucky does not seem so terrifying or life altering anymore, but it is still something that remains unspoken between you two. 

Tonight, you sit at your desk, finishing the letters you want to send to Sokovia. The sun has set long ago and writing by candlelight is beginning to strain your eyes. There has been a heaviness on your heart for the past couple of days, and as you rest back against your chair, your mind immediately wanders. You have contemplated the idea of consummating your marriage, but you do not know how to bring it up to your husband without the connotations of trying for a child. 

It feels easy to be with Bucky now, and you don’t want to ruin the momentum of your relationship with him. But, you want to have some fun, and he is so handsome that it makes you ache. Your fingers play with the thin fabric of your robe, and you consider all the times you have teased him with your lack of clothes. How easily you could slip into his room and into his bed tonight makes you smirk.

You stand with your mind made up, and you rid your body of all your underclothes, leaving only your translucent robe. You forgo a candle, as you have walked these halls enough to know where you are going, even in the dark of the night. Once you are in the hallway, hand running along the trim of the hall to guide your steps, you can feel your heart pounding in your chest in anticipation.

To no surprise, the doorway to his room is illuminated in telltale candlelight. Clutching the fabric of your robe to close it, you step into the light to see Bucky laid out on his bed. He still has his pants and boots on, dirty from his activities during the day. He is already asleep, with one hand resting over his bare chest as he was at least able to shed his shirt before laying down.

He looks younger when he sleeps, his face is softer and although you want to allow him the rest he deserves, you don’t know if you will have this bout of confidence again. You step silently into his room, balancing on the balls of your feet as you approach his bedside. Sitting gingerly next to him, you brush some of his hair out of his face. He immediately tilts his head, his cheek finding its place against your palm. While his eyes flutter open, his rough hand catches yours as your name stumbles out of his mouth in a question, “(Y/N)?”

“You fell asleep with your boots on,” you say softly, your hand stuck against his face as he holds your wrist.

He shifts on his bed to feel his burdened legs and releases your wrist as he props himself up on his elbows. You retract your arm as he stifles a yawn, unable to help the smile spreading across your lips. He moves so much slower when he has just woken up, and as he tries to sit up further you quickly press your hand against his chest. 

“No, rest,” you say, barely audible and he blinks at you until finally laying back down against his bed, his eyes never leaving yours.

Bucky watches you silently as you move to the end of his bed. Once your hands are on one of his boots, allowing your robe to open slightly as you tug on the leather, you hear his breath catch in his throat. Your cheeks are too heated to look up and gauge his expression as you pull off his first boot. While you work on the second one, the fabric slips down your shoulder, and you can sense your husband shifting. Once the second boot is off, you place it neatly on the ground next to its pair and it feels like all of your confidence has drained out of you. 

“(Y/N),” Bucky’s voice catches your attention and you finally look back up to meet his gaze. He sits up, moving faster now that your body has fully awoken him. You are overcome with anxiety that he won’t want you, that you will have to sulk back to your room in embarrassment. The thoughts crossing your mind distract you from your husband moving closer to you on the bed. 

His coarse hand tentatively reaches out to your still covered shoulder. With only what seems like the brush of his fingertips, the fabric falls further, the linen sliding off your breasts and pooling around your waist. With the final ounce of courage you have left, you let the robe go completely, and it splays around you like the train of your wedding dress.

The room is thick with the silence between you two. You both glance down each other’s bodies, as you hardly ever see him without his chest covered, save for the day he opened up to you. The scars across his toned body just make him seem rougher and more masculine. You can’t help your hungry eyes from eating up the sight of him, and he can’t help his either. The blue of his eyes has disappeared, replaced with the black of his pupils blown so wide you would have never known they used to look like the ocean.

You know that you are pushing every boundary that you have set, and this could crumble what fragile friendship you have built. There must be a reason that he never came to your room when couples are expected to join their bodies as one, a reason that he has barely touched you at all unless you touch him first. You can see the muscles in his neck move while he swallows hard before moving closer and reaching out to you again. 

When his hand cups your cheek you lean into his touch, looking up at his concerned face through your lashes. There is still space between your bodies, and you want to close the gap. The heat radiating off his body in his cool room is enticing. “(Y/N),” he says your name again, but with a lower voice thick with lust that you have never heard from him before, “I haven’t…” 

He trails off, and his fingers start to slip away from your face before yours press into the back of his hand to hold it in place. “What?” you urge him to continue as your free hand rests on his thick thigh. 

“It’s been a while for me since I’ve even touched someone like this,” he says as his face drops, his hair hiding some of his features. 

You smile and tuck his hair behind his ear, so he will lock his eyes with yours again, “I’m not just _someone_ , Bucky. I’m your wife.”

When he suddenly presses his lips against yours, it feels like everything falling into place. You feel like you finally belong here, in his bed, in his castle, in his country, and in his heart. His fingers trail down from your cheek to your waist and he pulls you onto his lap, your thighs straddling his. The material of his pants feels scratchy against your bare skin, so you pull away from him and his kiss to take them off.

“God, I’ve wanted you for so long, it only made things harder,” he whispers into your ear before pressing his lips against your neck. Working on his pants, he shifts so you can successfully pull them down. There are soft moans escaping your lips as he continues to kiss your throat while he completely discards his pants to the ground.

“You have me,” you breathe as he lifts you up and flips you over, your back hitting his soft blankets. His lips find yours once more, and you can feel his hair brush against your cheeks. There is absolutely nothing between you, but instead of feeling vulnerable, you feel safe. As you run your hands down his chest, the scars are ever present under your touch. 

You can feel the hesitation in his fingertips now that you are in a more compromising position. He is resting on his elbows and there is a gap between your naked bodies that you want gone. Pulling away from his lips, you rest your head back against his pillow, soaking in his features that have been softened from the dim light. He has a worried look across his face, and you stroke his cheek before caringly asking, “Is something wrong?”

“Are you sure you want this?” his question bites, and if he had asked this only a few short weeks ago you would have said no

“I want to be with my husband,” you say, desiring to dispel any negative emotions that have dug their way into Bucky’s mind.

The corners of his mouth lift to a smile before he gently kisses your cheek. It feels like you spend hours locked in each other’s embrace, his hands searching your body and your lips swelling from moving against his. The way he is kissing you now is like he is trying to make up for the months of misery in the beginning of your marriage. You have never felt so loved and cherished in someone’s arms as you do right now. 

But, you are burning for more than his touch. Every time his fingers trail across your skin there is a swell of hunger in their wake. Heat is pooling between your thighs, but Bucky won’t give you what you need. As much as you enjoy being underneath him and being his center of attention, you had so much more planned for tonight.

Pulling away from his lips, your breath quick, you take his cheeks into your palms. His darkened eyes search yours before you murmur, “Please…”

He tilts his face to kiss your fingertips before you rest your hands securely on his bare, strong shoulders. You can feel his burning touch on your thigh as he lifts your leg, but you’re too focused on his intense, sea blue stare. As soon as he fills you completely, your eyelids flutter and breathy moans escape your lips. He gasps at the overwhelming feeling, and you lose his gaze as his hair cascades in front of his face. 

Bucky’s head falls to your shoulder, and you can feel his hot breath against your throat. There’s a sense of fullness overtaking your body, and as soon as he starts moving his hips against yours, it transforms to pure pleasure. Your eyes close in bliss as you press your head back against his pillows. The grip he has on your thigh tightens as his pace quickens. His lips press against your neck, and you know he can feel your pounding pulse underneath them. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you bring him closer to you. Your bodies are completely flushed together, connected in every way possible. He feels so good, so perfect for you. There’s a source of desire blossoming from your core, and every movement from Bucky adds to it. Both of you are breathing heavily, moaning in sync. 

He lets go of your leg to slide his arm under your arched back, and you can feel the hard muscles of his stomach pressed against yours. Your thighs tighten against his moving hips as he kisses up to your jaw. Everything is beginning to feel like too much, every touch sending your nerves into overdrive until you come crashing down with his name mixed with loud, wanton moans. 

Your release causes Bucky to move faster, with more purpose. He finally spills inside of you, catching your lips in his as your body shakes from pleasure underneath his weight. His hand is in your hair as his mouth moves against yours, groaning against your tongue. The first pale rays of morning light are peeking through his window, covering your bodies in warmth. 

Your eyes blink open when he parts from your lips. Staring up at him with heavy eyelids, you are still trying to regain control of your breathing. You tuck some of his hair behind his ear and the sunlight washes over his face. Squinting from the sudden brightness, he pulls away from you, laying down by your side. You are completely unable to part your eyes from him as he messes with his blankets, covering the two of you. The way his muscles move, how his hair brushes against his neck, and the focus in his blue eyes are things you have grown accustomed to watching, to enjoying. The silence between you and your husband is welcomed, as neither of you have anything to say about what this means. 

With a yawn, you realize how heavy your body feels, and you have no desire to travel back to your room for an early morning nap. Bucky’s bedding is so comfortable, you’re melting into the soft fabric until an arm wraps around your waist, and you feel his body on you once again. Fingers run over the scars on his strong arm as he pulls you closer to him. He’s just as tired as you are, and as soon as his forehead presses against your hair, he’s gone. You stroke his bicep as you revel in this moment, considering how unlikely this was to happen weeks ago. It feels right to have him by your side, sleeping soundly, and as the sun creeps across your face, you join him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long awaited smut chapter, please practice safe sex and go to the bathroom right afterwards!!! I’m not kidding when I say this took _weeks_ to write.  
>  If you leave me frequent comments on my works you could be rewarded with a free fic request!  
> If you want to earn a free request be a frequent commenter on my fics!


	7. Chapter 7

The candles that were burning last night are nothing but spent wax dripping onto the furniture. You are only able to sleep for a few hours before the sun and the bustling of the castle wakes you. Your husband’s arm is heavy on your waist, but he is still in a deep sleep. You are able to carefully slip away from his hold and out of his bed. The robe you came in with is on the ground near the foot of the bed. Scooping it up and wrapping it tightly around your body, you breathe a quiet sigh. Your mind feels hazy from your actions last night and the lack of sleep. However, you have never seen Bucky’s chambers so illuminated, and you take this opportunity to look around.

His room is bigger than yours and has a little sitting area with some books you recommended to him strewn about the table and chairs. The crown you coronated him with, and many of his expensive jewels are laid out on display like yours, something May must have done for him as she did for you. You walk over to them, sparkling in the morning sun, to compare your ring up close to his ruby chest piece. As you look them over, something poking out from his closet catches your eye.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you gingerly step over some discarded clothes to pull out whatever is partially hidden in the closet. It’s a decently sized framed painting, and you turn it around and lean it against the wall to get a better look. Painted eyes stare back at you once the frame is settled against the wall, and it takes a few moments for you to register your own face. 

This is the portrait that was done in Sokovia, sent to nobles in Europe to entice them into an arranged marriage with you. You run your finger over the top of the frame and find no dirt nor grime. He must move it around for it to not collect any dust, and you glance back at his sleeping form before kneeling in front of the painting.

It truly looks like you, a natural smile on your lips surrounded by pearls in your hair, clothes, and jewelry, like an ocean goddess. It makes you homesick for your country, and who you were there. You feel as though you are a different person in England, and although you have been able to be more yourself in the comfort of Bucky’s castle, there is still something missing. Sighing softly, you run your fingers over the long-dried clumps of paint. You are so caught up in your own thoughts that you do not hear the rustling of blankets and clothing, and the soft footsteps behind you. 

“Morning,” a raspy, just-woken-up voice greets you. Startled, you quickly twist and look up to see your husband standing behind you, the pants you took off of him last night on him once again. He runs a hand through his messy hair before offering it to you to help you stand. You take it and as you get up, his other hand moves underneath your loosened robe to touch the skin of your waist. 

“Good morning,” you finally reply as he pulls you closer to him, until your bare chest is pressed against his. You are genuinely surprised at this reveal of his character, as you never expected him to be so physically affectionate. You are not complaining, as you have longed for his touch for more weeks than you would like to admit. As you look up at him, a soft smile graces your lips, but his eyes are no longer on you. Bucky is looking intently over your shoulder, at the portrait. 

Turning your head, you look back at your painted self as you say, “I’m surprised you kept it.”

His arms tighten around you, and you can feel his chest rumble against yours as he chuckles, “That’s my wife, of course I did.”

You press your cheek to his skin, and his rough hand comes up to hold the back of your head. There are still many questions about your marriage that burn holes in your mind, and you want them to be spoken, so they are no longer trapped within you, festering like open wounds. “Why do you still have it?”

He sighs and takes a moment to collect his thoughts before speaking, “When Peggy first sent this to me, and I saw your smile… I was so scared that I would take away the sparkle in your eyes, and I feel like I already have.”

“Oh,” you reply, considering how little he cared when you destroyed your couple’s portrait, “is that why you didn’t like ours?”

“Yes,” he says, his fingers stroking your hair, “you look happier in your painting than you do with me.”

“It’s not your fault, not completely,” you rest your head back against his hand, staring up at his blue eyes, clouded with frustration.

“Most days I feel useless and empty, like war ruined me,” Bucky presses his forehead to yours as his tone becomes softer, “I projected that onto you, and I shut you out. I have a lot to regret, (Y/N).”

The stubble on his face feels scratchy under your lips, still tender from last night, but you kiss his cheek anyways as you murmur, “I know.”

“I want you to be happy.”

You wish you could say that you are, but you would be lying. You desperately want to be happy, and you are getting there, slowly but surely, like the tide coming in. There is still something missing, something you can’t put your finger on, but you know it is absent. It feels like it is on its way, a ship that will roll into harbor unexpectedly. An overwhelming feeling of excitement and anticipation washes over you as you say with confidence, “I will be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my short intermission chapter before I transition into part two of this fic since the smut chapter ran way longer than I planned. I love you all dearly!  
> If you want to earn a free fic request be a frequent commenter on my fics!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part two of Royals with a new plot and new characters, enjoy!

**Part Two**  


Months ago, Bucky sifted through the mail as you sat with him, mending a tear in one of his shirts. There was a letter from Peggy addressed to both of you, inviting you back to the palace for a party in the throes of summer. Bucky informed you that she does this and a Christmas celebration annually. You were excited at the prospect of seeing her again, to better know the family you married in to, and urged him to immediately pen her back that you would both attend. 

Now, you regret accepting the invitation as you and May pack the gowns you two were able to alter before your trip. Nothing seems to fit any more, and although you have noticed your face grow rounder, your breasts swelling, and your hips widening, you have been blissfully ignoring the cause. She continues to pack your jewelry as you sit to rest, your body exerting more energy than usual, and you find yourself fatigued more often. 

You know that your faithful maid is aware of what you are going through, even if she never went through it herself, but she has been kind enough to keep the secret unspoken. Your husband told you that Peggy’s summer event usually lasts just short of two months, and you remind May to pack your sewing kit, as the dresses you are taking will no longer fit by the time you have to return home. She has been the cause of your diet change, has been more carefully attending to your needs, and will not allow you to even pick up a chair. Bucky thought nothing of the changes, used to May babying Rebecca and assuming that she is transferring that affection to you.

Your trunks are packed, and May leaves the room to get help to take the heavy things to your awaiting carriage. Sitting on the edge of your bed, you watch her return with two others, and one by one your luggage disappears. Your mind is so clouded that you hardly notice Bucky lingering in your doorway. Playing with your ruby ring, you stare absentmindedly at your emptied room before he clears his throat. Lifting your head up tiredly to meet his gaze, he crosses over to stand in front of you. Taking your wrists in his hands as he always does, you stand with his assistance. Those blue eyes of his are scanning your face carefully as you are making no effort to mask your anxiety.

“Are you well?” he asks softly, releasing one of your hands to stroke a callous finger across your cheek. Puffing out a short sigh, you nod your head, causing the man to narrow his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m nervous,” you answer honestly, following it with a lie, “the last time we were in London wasn’t exactly pleasant.” Although the pains from the rocky start of your marriage still linger, you have so much more to worry over now. You almost regret using that excuse as Bucky’s expression flashes guilt before he pulls you into his arms. 

“It will be different,” he whispers into your hair, kissing the top of your head, and you feel relieved, if only for a moment. 

You and Bucky have not spoken of your obligations since that first night, and you are terrified to bring it up since he clearly opposes the idea. Your heart is beating out of your ribs, and although you try to enjoy being in his arms, it scares you. As softly as you can, you push against his chest, moving away from him as you murmur, “We should go soon.”

Offering his arm to you, you can’t help but catch the sadness in his eyes as you take it. He leads you down stairs silently, the only noise is the two pairs of shoes against the floor. You feel guilty and it makes your stomach sour, like acid burning up your throat. He’s trying, and you don’t know what to do as the evidence of your condition piles, so you push away. 

Once outside and by the carriage, Bucky leaves your side to speak to the head housekeeper. You move around to pet the lead horses, Shield whinnies as you approach him. You sneak him treats as often as you can to gain his affection, though you have yet to ride one of the many horses housed in the stable. As you pet his neck, the other lead horse nudges as gently as she can at your stomach. Winter, who is a white mare with a blackened nose, usually never pays attention to you. Resting a hand on her forehead in amazement, she sniffs at your abdomen. 

Bucky’s voice startles you out of your trance, and Winter returns to ignoring you as he asks, “Are you ready to leave?”

You nod your head as you circle back around to the side of the carriage, Bucky helping you climb in, then sitting next to you. He opens his arms out for you as the thing begins to move, and you lean into his embrace. You wonder if he will continue to be this physical with you in front of the other royals. Leaning your head back against his broad shoulder, you watch the scenery move past you, lulling you into a nap.

\--

It is late evening when you finally arrive, as you should have left much earlier in the day if you wanted to do more than greet your hosts. One of Peggy’s ladies in waiting informs you what room the royal couple is in, waiting for you. Bucky rests his hand on the small of your back as you follow the young woman inside the castle. Servants help unload your things into the magnificent building. It is vastly bigger than yours, and you barely remember any of it, the couple of weeks you stayed here are a blur in your memory.

As you are led down the halls fully illuminated by firelight, Bucky pulls you closer to him, as if he is nervous as well. The girl stops in a doorway and curtsies while gesturing for you to go inside. You thank her before stepping into the lush sitting room that smells like honey. Peggy and Steve are playing cards, steaming cups of tea next to them. 

As soon as she hears you both enter, her head whips up, curls bouncing against her shoulders as she grins. She stands quickly and embraces her cousin while you take a step to the side as to not get in the way. Steve also gets up at your arrival, and nods to you in greeting while Peggy shouts, “You’re early for once!”

“I know, I wanted to give (Y/N) the full experience,” Bucky smiles as he gestures towards you, Peggy releasing her hold on him to wrap her arms around you.

“Oh!” you exclaim in surprise and cannot help but mirror her wide smile, “I’m excited to be here.”

She brushes some hair out of your face and you are once again shocked at how casual she is with you. As she speaks she takes a step back into her husband’s arms, “We’re excited to have you, do you remember Steve?”

Giving her a short nod, she continues babbling, “How was your trip here? Have you heard from Rebecca, I have not received word from her in a while? Are you hungry?-“

Steve gently places his hand on the queen’s back and breaks her flow of questions, “Darling they just arrived, let them rest.”

“Of course, I got carried away,” she smiles fondly at him, then waves her hands as to shake off some of her excess eagerness, “we can catch up tomorrow at breakfast then.”

You watch Peggy take Bucky’s hands in hers as they say their goodnights, and you notice how relaxed your husband is among them. There is an easy smile on his lips that does not waver when he speaks to them, one that he has started to show you more often. You see the admiration on Steve’s face as he looks at his wife, and the knowing looks he shares with Bucky when she starts chattering again. 

The trio has a long history together, and you feel out of place among them as a watcher. There is a worry that washes over you as you come to the realization that this entire trip will be filled with people of royalty who have known each other all their lives. One more thing to concern yourself about for the next month of festivities. Your expression must have grown distant while you stewed in your thoughts, and Bucky’s hand on your wrist and Peggy’s voice brings you back to reality. 

“My dear, you look exhausted,” she says, her voice softer as she realizes she is keeping you up, “Bucky, take her to your room, it should be ready.”

He pulls you closer to him, and you say your farewells as he leads you out of the sitting room, leaving the other couple to go back to their tea and card game. Once the door is closed and Bucky is leading you down the hallway, the twists and turns familiar to him, you ask, “You have your own room here?”

“Rebecca and I spent every summer and Christmas here as children,” he answers you, “Peggy missed us so much during the war I think these celebrations are mostly meant for us.”

“That’s sweet,” you murmur to yourself as you finally arrive at Bucky’s room, set up similar to the one in his own castle. There’s a spacious bed, a sitting area, both of your trunks line the walls and your jewels are already on display. “Ah, it’s like we never left,” you smile, then realizing that you will have to share this room and this bed with him for two months, your smile falters. Although you are not strangers to sleeping in each other’s’ arms, knowing that you do not have long to further hide your secret sets off your nerves once again. Dread fills you at the thought of the difficult conversation, and you know that Bucky is picking up on your unease.

“Is it okay? I know you’re used to your own space, but there are a lot of people visiting for the summer.”

“Yes, I…” you smooth the sides of your dress, about to speak again before a couple of servants burst into the room with your final trunk of clothing. 

Bucky assists them in putting it with the others, and tells them to rest as the two exhausted help try to start unpacking the last trunk. Your husband closes the thick, oak door behind them. You quietly slip out of your shoes and reach behind your neck to undo the clasp of your pearl necklace, your fingers struggling. 

He comes to your aid almost immediately, taking off your necklace and laying it carefully on the dresser before starting on the buttons of your dress. You stop his undressing once he’s loosened your corset, and step out of your clothing, quickly delving under the covers as he works on his own clothes. Sitting on the edge of the bed as he undoes his boots, you turn to your side to watch him. The way the muscles of his back move puts you in a trance. 

The familiarity of watching him pull off his boots, taking off his shirt and pants, running his rough fingers through his hair before laying down beside you makes your wild heart beat a little slower. Your anxiety melts as you’ve seen him do this ritual dozens of times in the safety of your own castle, and this place feels a little bit more like home. 

Bucky pulls you closer to him as he always does, nudging his nose against your neck as his hand slips beneath your undergarments to rest against the bare skin of your thigh. Your own hands rest on his warm chest, the scars memorable to you now, mentally mapped out on your fingertips. Being so close to him produces butterflies in your stomach, something you have grown accustomed to in these past weeks as your belly has grown. You know they are not born of your fond feelings for your husband anymore, but of his baby that you carry, that will eventually carry the crown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back! Thanks for letting me take a little hiatus, I really needed it because I didn’t write at all for the past two weeks lol.  
> I’m super excited for Part Two of this fic, pregnant!reader and political drama!  
> I have… So much pregnancy knowledge in my brain, and as always I’m trying to make it as inclusive as I possibly can for everyone!  
> If you want to earn a free request be a frequent commenter on my fics!


	9. Chapter 9

The other side of the bed is cold when you finally awaken. You stretch your arm out to feel the empty spot next to you, the amount of sun peaking through the curtains an indication of how long you have slept in. With a sigh, you sit yourself up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, wondering where your husband went.

A meek knock breaks through your groggy thoughts, and you clear your throat before saying, “Come in.”

“Queen (Y/N), your majesty,” a voice speaks politely as the door opens, “Her highness, queen Margaret sent me to aid you.”

You blink a few times as the figure walks across your room to open the curtains of your windows. Once the room is fully lit, you see the woman better, the same lady in waiting that Peggy had lead you to the sitting room yesterday. Nodding a greeting to her, you climb out of bed with a groan. As you stretch your muscles, cramped from the long carriage ride the day before, you hear the lady rummage through your dresses. She fishes out an outfit with one of your lightweight, blue dresses, thankfully it is one May altered before you left.

You change your underclothes as the lady prepares your corset, and as she reaches around you to put it on, her hands brush up against your firm, protruding stomach. A small gasp escapes her lips and her whole face reddens as she speaks, “T-The queen did not tell me you were withchild.” 

You can feel the color drain from your face at her revelation, and when she sees your expression she begins apologizing profusely. Shaking your head, and resting a hand over your belly, you ask in a small voice, “How easily can you tell?”

“I-I could only tell because my sister recently gave birth,” she replies, her voice equally quiet.

Both standing silently, neither knowing what to say, she continues her work with your corset, keeping it loose and masterfully hiding your stomach. After helping you into the royal blue dress, she goes to your jewelry, picking out a sapphire necklace and matching tiara. You know your ruby ring looks out of place, but you still put it on as she fixes your hair for the tiara. Once she has finished, she curtsies and stares at the ground, waiting to be released.

Smoothing out the sides of your dress over your corset, you speak, “I would like for you to be my lady in waiting for my whole stay here, but for now you are dismissed.” It feels strange to say that, as May comes and goes as she pleases, acting more like a maternal figure than the help. You watch the woman hurriedly leave your room, and take a deep breath, the burden of your secret shared by one more person.

Like clockwork, Bucky returns to your shared room, smiling when he sees that you are up and dressed. He moves across the room to greet you, his hands finding the dip of your corseted waist as he presses his forehead against yours. You suppose that the displays of affection will not stop even though you are not in your own home, and that makes your heart beat a little faster and your hopes rise.

“Have you come to fetch me?” you ask, adjusting the collar of his shirt as a smile ghosts your lips. 

“Yes, more people have arrived,” he responds with a hint of distaste in his voice as he pulls you closer to his body. 

Pulling your face away from his to look properly into his eyes, confused at his tone, you ask, “Is something the matter?”

“I…” your husband starts, and you can feel him tense around you, “Crowds are not my favorite.”

Staring at him, he averts his gaze and loosens his hold on you. This has been an obvious fact, shown by how little people reside in his castle and can even explain some of his behavior during your wedding. However, hearing him say it out loud, baring his insecurities to you makes you feel proud of how far your relationship has come. 

With a soft smile, you brush your fingers fondly against his cheek, “Well, I have to at least make an appearance with you.”

Nodding in agreement, he smiles when you slip your hand into his. Parting from the warmth of your body, he leads you to the doorway and through the halls. You are thankful that he knows his way around this place, as you would have been lost ten times over by now. It is easy to imagine him as a child, running around the castle grounds with his cousins and friends, and the thought sends flutters to your stomach. Your fingers graze your covered belly for a second, not wanting to linger and bring attention to it as you continue walking beside your husband. 

Bucky leads you outside to a lush, green courtyard. In the center, there is a table full of food and expensive china. Peggy and Steve are sat there, laughing with a man you vaguely recognize. His wide smile and air of confidence are familiar from somewhere you cannot seem to place, and the name Samuel enters your mind. 

As you reach the table, the man you think is Samuel stands to greet you. His brown eyes are locked on yours as he takes your hand and kisses its back. With wide eyes and a glance at your annoyed looking husband, your greeting sounds more like a question, “Lord Samuel?”

“We’re all friends here now, right? You can call me Sam,” he says with a grin as he releases your hand and Bucky helps you sit. 

“A little too friendly,” your husband says under his breath as he also seats himself. 

Sam looks pleased that he is so quickly able to irritate him, “Well, my name was also up for consideration when your lovely wife’s hand was opened for marriage.”

Heat spreads to your cheeks and you are unsure of what to do with yourself in this situation. It has been far too long since you have had any interaction with this many people and you feel overwhelmed. Thankfully, this English summer day is dreary with a covering of clouds and a cooler than usual breeze, or else you would be sweating under your corset much more than you already are. But now you are able to place the familiarity, as his portrait was one of many sent to you, and he had also attended your wedding.

“It pays to have friends in high places,” you can feel Sam’s eyes on you as he speaks, but a short laugh from Peggy breaks the tension. 

“Right,” she continues laughing, and now it is Sam’s turn to look embarrassed, “as if I would arrange a marriage to a lord who was _just_ given his title to a queen.”

Sam rolls his eyes, and you glance to your side, a smug smile on your husband’s lips as he picks at a roll of bread. 

“He is a knight as well,” Steve includes, clearly amused with the conversation.

“You know I led the entire army, right?” teases Bucky.

You wish you knew enough about this group of friends to add something else to the conversation besides a question, but you ask anyways, “So, neither of you were born into titles?”

Sam shakes his head, and Steve answers you, “No, but we all grew up together in this very castle, my mother was a maid and Sam’s father was one of the cooks. We were all very close.”

“It was frowned upon, but no one could say no to the princess,” Bucky says, gesturing towards the now-queen Peggy, who simply sips her wine and shrugs. 

“Look at you now, my love,” Peggy smiles as she brushes some of Steve’s hair out of his face, “a king.”

Watching them look at each other with so much love in their eyes and in their smiles makes a pang of sadness wreck through your chest. It is the same look you saw between your parents as a child, and as you turn to your husband, you wonder if that is what others think when they see you. While you are caught in your own thoughts, disengaging as the conversation changes, Bucky’s stare meets your empty eyes, a confused look on his face. 

“So, when is everyone else of importance arriving?”

“Oh Sam, do not say it like that. I appreciate everyone who comes to celebrate the summer with us.”

“I know you have to be diplomatic Peggy, but you know what I meant. At least, Steve knows what I meant.”

The words buzz in your ears as your husband’s blue eyes squint the longer you stare blankly at him. You can feel yourself shutting down as you did all those months ago with paint stained finger tips. At the thought, as though he is reading your mind, his rough hand finds yours under the table.

“The princes of Norway should be arriving within the next couple of days, and Natasha wrote to Steve.”

“She will be arriving later on, there are some things her family has to deal with in Russia.”

“What’s left of her family, you mean.”

“Sam, I hope you are not this rude when everyone else arrives. I can and I will strip you of your knighthood.”

His hand engulfs your wrist and his thumb rubs circles on your skin. The contact makes you blink your eyes a few times, and your vision refocuses. With a furrowed brow, and his mouth in a tight, worried line, Bucky shifts in his seat to face you, silently begging you to tell him what is wrong. You put your hand over his and ever so slightly shake your head. 

“Anyways, T’Challa should be arriving tonight or early tomorrow morning. He is not bringing Nakia this summer, nor Shuri.”

“That is too bad, I know Rebecca would have enjoyed seeing the princess.” 

“Speaking of Rebecca-“ Steve’s words are cut off as he finally notices your silent exchange, “is everything okay?”

Bucky glances at him before keeping his gaze on you once more, “Yes, I am still tired from our trip. I did not sleep well. We are going to take our leave for the evening.”

“We?” Sam questions as his eyes flick between the two of you, “(Y/N) hardly touched the food, perhaps she wants to stay.”

At his words you can feel the hollowness of your stomach, but you desperately want to take the exit Bucky created and escape. Bucky opens his mouth to further argue with his old friend, but Peggy interjects, “I’ll have a basket sent back to your room with you.” She gestures for one of the servants to come over, then gives you a sympathetic look. How she is always able to read you, you’ll never know.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper as Bucky stands and helps you up. His arms wrap around you for support. 

“We want you well rested for the festivities,” Steve says as he also stands in a sign of respect, Sam following his example. 

Bucky nods and waves them off, turning you and taking you back to the room. As you retreat to the hallways, the trio left behind exchanges confused expressions. A comfortable silence surrounds you and your husband, but he keeps you as close to him as possible. Once in your room, that is quickly becoming a safe, breathable space, he sits you down on the loveseat. The servants follow you in and place the basket of food and a tray of tea on the table in front of you.

Bucky thanks them before instructing them to shut the door as they leave. Once you are alone, all of his attention is back on you, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you breathe, wishing you could loosen your corset, “I suppose crowds are not my favorite either at the moment.”

A smile bleeds onto his features, and he questions you no further than that. Before he sits down next to you, he prepares you a plate of food, knowing exactly what you do and do not like. You happily eat, and enjoy the quiet afternoon in with your husband, like the ones you have grown accustomed to. However, beyond the comfort and safety of your and Bucky’s room, the loose lips of a lady are causing a stir in the background of the castle. Words spread quickly here, with many ears willing to listen and many voices to carry on the message. Your fragile secret has been spread and has fallen into the hands of someone who wishes to crush the delicate thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you are about 3 months pregnant, hopefully inclusive enough for all body shapes and sizes to show, but could still hide.  
> If you want to earn a free request be a frequent commenter on my fics!


	10. Chapter 10

Two weeks pass, and you have met many royals that you have previously only heard stories of. King T’Challa is one of the most confident and poised men you have ever encountered, although Peggy and Bucky say differently when his wife and sister are present. The two Norwegian princes, Thor and Loki, are complete opposites. The blond is boisterous and truly happy to be here among friends, while his brother lurks near the edges in the shadows, contemplating and rarely engaging. Just this morning, Brock Rumlow arrived, and you recognized him as yet another potential suitor you had just short of a year ago. Rumlow has proven to be quite mysterious, and something about him makes your skin crawl although he and Steve seem to get along. You are increasingly thankful that you were arranged to marry Bucky, and none of the other men that are here.

Tonight, Steve has announced that there will be a grand fireworks display and a night filled with music and dancing. The promised music can be heard through the doors as you and your husband linger in the hallway. Your breath hitches in your throat as his fingers trail down the sides of your pink dress, either from his touch or from your corset that has officially gotten too small for you. Even if you did not have a baby growing inside of you, all of the delicious food you have eaten on this trip would have caused your clothes to be ill fitting. 

Both of you have been adverse to the amount of people that are now staying in the castle, and you frequently find yourself pulled aside to hiding places he has known since childhood. There have been ample amounts of time you could have told him about your condition, but every time he takes your wrist in his hand or his lips brush across yours, you think about losing his touch. You do not know what you would do without his solace in the queen’s castle. 

“We should go inside,” you suggest, although your eyes flutter closed as he presses a kiss to your forehead, “we’re already late.”

“We are not late yet, we have not missed the fireworks,” he retorts as he trails his fingers up your neck, causing you to tilt your head back.

You have grown closer the longer the summer celebration drags on, and as you press your hands onto his chest, you can feel contrast of the cold jewels of his neck piece and the soft fabric of his overshirt. Your jaw is in his hold, and he drags his lips down your cheek to finally lock with yours. Sighing softly against his kiss, your heart beats quicker than it already had been. It is more than safe to say that you are falling in love with your husband. 

Bucky pulls away only to whisper, “I cannot put my finger on it, but you look more beautiful here than you ever have.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks at his compliment and all you can do is smile, the fabric of his clothes enclosed in your fists. As he leans into you for another kiss, the sound of a heavy door swinging open causes him to pause, but he keeps you close to him. Tilting your head, you catch your lady in waiting with her arms full of linens, stopped mid step. Her face reddens, and she immediately averts eye contact, spinning on her heel and going a different route. 

Her expression leaves you confused, but Bucky’s annoyed puff of breath against your skin and his hands leaving your body bring your attention back to him. “Ready to go in?” you ask with bright eyes, “I think you owe me a dance or two.”

He smiles with a roll to his eyes and opens the door, allowing you to enter into the great hall first as you adjust your pearl headpiece. Your husband stays close behind you as you walk further in, taking in the sights. It is beautifully decorated with summer flowers and a wide spread of food laid out on silver dishes. Everyone who is currently staying in the castle is here, besides T’Challa who has some vague business to attend to. All are having a grand time tonight, even the moody Loki is speaking to nobleman Alexander Pierce, one of the heads of the English parliament and has a smirk on his face. 

Thor is closest to the doorway you entered in, and raises his goblet of wine to you both in greeting. Smiling politely, he takes that as an invitation to abandon his conversation with one of the dukes of Spain to come talk to you. The modest crown that matches his golden locks looks lackluster compared to his huge grin. You wonder how much alcohol he has had to drink this evening as he speaks, “Ah, the handsome couple finally makes an appearance!”

Bucky chuckles awkwardly and you can feel the weight of his hand on the skirt of your dress while he replies, “Here we are, are you still engaged to lady Jane?”

For a split second his face twists into grief before he forces out laughter, “Bah, now is not the time for a wedding in my country, there are major changes happening soon.”

You do not want to press the subject any further, and the music picks up to something livelier, so with a deep breath, you direct your question to both men, “Well, shall we all dance?”

“Of course, whatever her majesty desires,” Thor says with a genuine smile while offering his hand. You make sure you place your hand with Bucky’s ring in his, and he compliments the ruby as he walks you to the center of the room. Your husband trails behind, clearly miffed about his partner being stolen by the large prince. 

Peggy is delighted to see a crowd start to form for a dance, and she excitedly comes over to step in as her cousin’s dance partner. She affectionately brushes her fingers across your forearm as she passes, to let you wordlessly know that she is glad for your company. Once the musicians catch a hint of what the people want, they start playing a familiar song that every royal seems to be born knowing. 

You remember your father teaching you the steps, your little hands wrapped around his thumbs as your feet rest on his. Clapping in time to the song, your mother would be all smiles watching. You cannot help but glance towards where your husband stands, farther down the line of people. He meets your eyes and smiles as the dance begins, and it is so easy to imagine him teaching the steps to your unborn child. 

Thor makes for a good partner, not complaining or wincing at all when you accidentally step on his toes. Your center of gravity has changed with your transforming body and you are still getting used to it. It is nice to see someone so enthralled with his experience here, his grin intoxicatingly refreshing. Before the song demands for a switch in companion, Thor spins you with gusto. Your dress flares out in a sight of pink and cream, and you must reach up to secure the pearls of your head piece.

The hands that catch you are unfamiliar, long, slender fingers that grip onto your forearms stopping you mid-spin. You stop abruptly and stare at your new dance partner, a man that has not spoken more than two words to you since arriving: Loki. His little knowing smirk as he leads in the dance causes concern to build in your heart. Clearing your throat, you think that breaking the silence may make it less awkward, “Are you enjoying your evening?”

“Hm, I will be soon,” he answers mysteriously, and you have to force yourself to stop from rolling your eyes before he asks, “has it been difficult?”

“Has what been difficult?” you raise an eyebrow as you question back, and you have to wait a moment for his answer as you take a step away from him, outstretching your arm only for him to pull you back to his side as the dance goes. 

Loki is far too close for comfort as the chilling words spill out of his mouth, “Concealing your pregnancy from everyone.”

A sharp twist of your stomach, eyes widening, and the sudden need to be sick overcomes you. Stopped in your tracks, the monarch of the Holy Roman Empire bumps into you, as everyone else continues the dance while your own personal nightmare unravels. Your feet start moving again, muscle memory taking over as your mind races and you hiss, “How did you know? Who told you?”

The laughter bubbling up from his throat makes you irrationally angry, but you keep moving as to not draw attention. “You do not have as many friends in this castle as you thought,” he says, and moves onto the next dance partner. Your eyes narrow as you watch him so casually continue the festivities after shattering the protective bubble you had around you until his words truly sink in. 

Steve is next to dance with you, but you pay him no mind as you start whipping your head around to look at everyone present. Sensing your distress, the man politely starts, “Uh, what is-“

Shaking your head quickly to silence him, you continue your visual search of the room as he takes one of your hands and leads you around his body. Most everyone is participating in the dance now, but a few are sitting out. In one of the furthest corners of the great hall, you spy someone, looking at you with a penetrating gaze. You lock eyes with the older man, and he brushes some of his sandy hair out of his face. He had been speaking to Loki when you walked in, and the look in his eyes now sets your skin on edge. The blond follows your eyeline and says, “Do you need to speak with Pierce?”

In that same moment, you see Brock walk up to him, breaking the man’s stare. You turn back to Steve and try your best to muster up a smile before commenting, “No, thank you.” 

He smiles back at you, with just a hint of confusion on his features. The musicians bring the song to a dramatic end, and you part from your final companion, dipping into a curtsey as he bows. Once you stand back up straight and look around, neither Loki nor Pierce can be seen in the hall. You bring your hand over your covered stomach and for a moment of paranoia, you wonder if you and your baby are in danger. 

Shaking your head as to physically clear your mind, you shrug off the notion. You can hear Peggy apologizing as she pushes through the sea of royals to get to you and her husband. As soon as she is next to Steve he puts a hand softly on her waist, but the look on her face, her natural blush gone as her skin looks paler than you have ever seen on her, frightens you. She rests her hand on her husband’s arm as she whispers to him, “I’m sorry my love, but will you excuse us? Perhaps join Bucky and Sam?”

He nods and looks even more confused as his wife takes your arm and ushers you away from the crowd. “What is going on?” you ask, worry filling every word. 

“Come, we must speak in private,” her voice is hurried as she leads you to the exit, and you twist in her grasp to try and find Bucky in the crowd, but she is already closing the door behind you as you finally spot him with Sam. 

“What?” you demand again as you reach a balcony overlooking the castle grounds, and as Peggy speaks you are thankful for the refreshing evening air.

She takes a deep breath before talking, “I have heard whispers of it, but I thought they were rumors,” her deep brown eyes are piercing yours as she finally asks, “Are you withchild?”

Your heart is beating out of your chest, and the overwhelming wave of emotions causes your eyes to well up. Reaching out for support, you grip the edge of the balcony and press your other hand against your heaving chest, all air seeming to escape you. In an instant, Peggy’s arms are around you, her cheek pressed against yours and it feels like she is the only thing holding you up, keeping you from collapsing.

“Oh darling,” she murmurs and that is all it takes for you to start sobbing into her curls. All that can be heard is your soft cries, muffled music from the hall, and the crickets chirping in the night. She rubs your back and does not say anything more, your reaction enough of an answer. She only releases you once your crying has subsided, and she swipes some tears off your cheek with a sympathetic smile. 

“I… I do not know what to do,” you say with a hiccup.

As her fingers brush against your stomach, she asks, “Is everything going okay?”

You nod, and she looks relieved until you question, “Does everyone know now?”

“With Loki’s mischief and all of the servants’ rumors, I suppose so.”

“Does… he know?”

“You have not told him?” her brow furrows, but the swell of the music from the door opening prevent her from speaking further. 

The familiar sound of men’s laughter is heard accompanied by heavy footsteps. Gripping Peggy’s wrist tightly, you urgently whisper, “Please, do not say anything.”

Bucky comes into view with Steve and Sam in tow. You quickly rub your eyes, trying to banish the last of the tears, as Peggy greets them. Your husband immediately comes to your side, and even in the dim mixture of moon and candlelight, he can see the stains of tears on your skin. He pulls you into his arms, and out of everyone who has touched you tonight, his hands bring you the most comfort. 

“What happened?” he inquires, and you press your face into his chest as he cradles your cheek.

“She twisted her ankle,” Peggy answers, quick on her feet to lie for you and you feel eternally grateful, “I took her outside for a breath of fresh air that seems to have made it worse.”

Sam laughs heartily at her joke, most likely from the amount of beer he chugged with Thor, and a giggle escapes you in reaction. At the positive sound, Bucky’s tense stance relaxes, and he drops his hand from your face. As the trio of men start chatting about all of their past injuries, you mouth ‘thank you’ to the queen. She smiles and ever so slightly nods, but there is a hint of concern in her eyes and her tight lips that reminds you that time is running out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the political drama begins. HUGE shout out to [siruru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/siruru/pseuds/siruru) for helping me come up with the political plot that will continue to unfold!  
> Thank you so much to [racheltheclumsy](https://racheltheclumsy.tumblr.com/) for designing MC's [dresses!](https://racheltheclumsy.tumblr.com/post/177289928785/it-wouldnt-post-the-first-time-so-heres-take-2#notes)  
> If you want to earn a free request be a frequent commenter on my fics!


	11. Chapter 11

_Bright bursts of blue and green flash across his face as his expression changes. Pity. The loud explosions of the fireworks drowns out your confession and it feels as though you are caught in a thunderstorm. Tears. Red cracks through the sky as his hands draw back from your body and you have never felt colder. Truth. He shakes his head as the finale of the show ends in brilliance and leaves you standing alone on an unfamiliar balcony._

It has been a full week of his silent treatment since the big party and ultimate reveal. He still must sleep in the same bed with you, which makes everything somehow worse. You always wake to him leaving in the middle of the night, and your mind can only wander down dark paths of thought as to where he may be going. Without his company, you have ended up spending most of your time here either alone or with Peggy. 

She tells you what she can of Bucky, but it seems as though his cold shoulder has extended to her as well. It feels gut-wrenchingly similar to the weeks following your marriage. However, you are finally free of the confines of secrets and corsets, and Peggy has bought you an entire new wardrobe of maternity outfits. It seems without binding, your stomach has grown even rounder, and your new dresses embrace all of your curves. 

This afternoon, Peggy is sifting through yet another shipment of clothes she got for you to find the last bit of your outfit. “It is hot today, I know this came with a veil,” she murmurs mostly to herself as she digs. 

You play with cream colored fabric, running your fingers over the strips of lace that grace every layer of the dress. This is by far the best one she has boughten you and seeing it improved your mood. It seems that the other queen is doing all she can to keep you in good spirits. She finds what she is looking for with a triumphant, “Aha, here it is!”

As she fixes it under one of your smaller crowns, you say, “I look like the virgin Mary in this.”

“Oh,” she pauses and looks you over, “I suppose you do, but it is jousting day and I do not want you to get overheated.”

Before you leave for the arena, you help each other tie your favors around your wrists, yours is a thin strip of white lace and hers is expensive blue velvet. At least your bond with Peggy has strengthened during this emotionally draining time. A part of you does not want to return to Bucky’s castle at the end of the summer. 

It is no surprised to see both Bucky and Steve’s thrones empty in the sitting gallery, as both have entered into the tournament for fun. While you both make your way to your own thrones, Pierce pulls Peggy away, the look on his face expressing concern. Waving her off as she makes her way back down, you finally reach your seat, pleased to have at least one person to talk to, who you have not gotten a proper chance to converse with yet: T’Challa.

He greets you in Xhosa, following with, “I am glad I am not sitting alone today.”

Smiling politely, you nod in agreement before asking, “Are you not interested in participating?”

“Ah, I much prefer to watch. In Wakanda, we watch the border tribe’s young men try to tame the rhinoceroses,” he adds with a laugh, “it is always better to be the watcher.”

It takes a moment for you to call an image of the animal he mentioned, as it is something you have only read of in books. “Hm, sound advice,” is all you can say as you think about how sheltered you have been on your little island.

The tournament has already started, and as servants even out the dirt, the next two knights mount their horses. In an act of boldness, one of them approaches the sitting area as soon as his lance is handed to him. He rests it on a fence near a young maiden, who as she stands excitedly, the tight coils of her hair bounce. She quickly takes off her favor, a pink ribbon, and ties it to his lance for good luck. As he hoists his lance back up, she blows him a kiss and returns to her friends, giggling. The knight seems to be sitting up a little straighter as his round commences, and he easily beats his opponent. 

You clap along with the crowd, but cannot help the sinking feeling in your chest as you watch the winner lean over, flipping the helmet of his armor so he can receive a kiss from the maiden. With a sigh, you rest your hands on your stomach, and T’Challa eyes you. 

“The reason my queen, Nakia, could not attend this year is because she just gave birth to our third child,” he comments and looks back out at the bustling crowd.

“Oh,” you say, your interest piqued as you turn in your throne a little to face him, “how are they doing?” 

He is wearing a proud smile that you unconsciously mirror as he speaks, “Excellent. We finally had a healthy girl, so princess Shuri also stayed back for some traditions that are for the women only.” 

“Congratulations,” you say as your smile falters and your arms wrap tighter around your stomach.

“How are you doing? Nakia would not stop worrying during her first,” he chuckles at the memory, but shows true sympathy in his eyes as he awaits your answer.

“I do not know really,” you sigh again, “I have spent so much time hiding it that I do not know how I feel.”

“Please excuse me if this is too forward,” he clears his throat awkwardly, and you get a glimpse of the submissive man he is in his own home, “but is Barnes ignoring you on purpose?”

Shifting in your seat, you turn away from the king, figuring silence is an easier answer than any weak explanation you could give him. It does the trick as you hear T’Challa swear in Xhosa then say, “That stubborn man. I thought he would have gotten better.”

“Better?” you venture, still looking away from him, back to watching the knights joust. 

“Right after the war, instead of returning to England, he stayed with me in Wakanda,” T’Challa’s voice quiets so no curious ears can hear. You lean closer as he continues, “He wanted to find some part of himself he lost, but that is not what happens. You can never get back what you lose, you must grow around it.”

Tears prick your eyes, because although you are left alone and confused again, you do not know what is going on in Bucky’s mind. “That’s true,” you whisper.

“I was terrified when Nakia was pregnant with our first, I did not know what to do with myself,” you can tell from his voice that he’s smiling again, and that warms your heart that just at the thought of his wife, he smiles, “If you wish, I can speak to him on your behalf.”

Shaking your head, you break your eyes away from the tournament. Reaching over, you put your hand gently over his, “Thank you for the offer, but it is not necessary.”

“Hm, that is too bad,” T’Challa says as he lifts your hand with his and grins across the arena, as if greeting someone, “because I already did this morning.”

Your eyes go wide before following his gaze to see Bucky, donned in his pitch-black armor sans helmet, holding onto Shield’s reins. There is black kohl spread around his eyes which only makes the ice blue stand out, piercing you even from a distance. The baby in your stomach responds to the skip of your heart by turning over, something that still feels like butterflies and you may never get used to it. You do not notice it when T’Challa sets your hand back down on the armrest, maintaining eye contact with your husband until he is sitting atop Shield, servants handing him his lance and helmet. 

Steve is on the other side of the arena atop a light brown horse dressed in royal blue. The king has on elegantly decorated golden armor, and you can see his mouth move and brow furrowed in confusion as Brock stands below him, holding up his lance. Peggy’s favor is already tied to it, the velvet fluttering in the wind. You watch Steve take the thing from Brock and weigh it in his hands as if something is off. Before you get a chance to watch any more of the interaction, Bucky leads Shield over to the seating gallery and stops right in front of you.

He lifts his lance up and holds it out to you. From this proximity, you can hear the sound of his metal armor plates scraping against each other with every movement, and you can better see the smear of black making his eyes seem impossibly bluer. You hold his gaze for a second longer than you should have before undoing the favor Peggy tied around your wrist. With the flimsy fabric clutched tightly, you tuck your dress in and stand. It feels as though nothing else matters except his eyes on you, following every flick of your wrist and quick fingers as you tie the lace around his lance. 

After you finish, your arms encircling your stomach, he pulls the lance back and takes his helmet out from where it was safely tucked under his arm. Only once the last piece of black armor is on his head do you sit back down, finally taking a breath. You watch him retreat to his corner and T’Challa’s chuckles next to you make your cheeks heat up. 

Horns blare as both men get lined up, and you understand how Bucky had survived all those years in war, as his all black armor and black horse with deep red dressing looks incredibly menacing. Steve twists his grip on his lance as he gains better control of his excited horse, and both men receive their small shields. 

A servant boy appears in the middle of the arena, flag in hand, and a hush falls over the crowd. The mousy child looks nervous as he lifts it, glancing towards Steve’s corner, and once he lets the thing drop, he sprints away from the arena. You do not know why your eyes follow the boy instead of watching the two kings speed their horses towards each other, a flurry of dust kicking up until you can no longer see the boy.

Instead of the usual crash of jousting, the breaking of wooden shields, there is a sickening crack of the hard tip of the lance against armor and a collective gasp from the audience. As the dust settles, the screaming starts. The first thing you see is Shield trotting to a stop, and Bucky’s armored body hanging awkwardly off of the horse’s side being dragged through the dirt. Steve jumps off the back of his horse, ripping off his helmet and tossing it aside as he sprints towards his childhood friend. 

You lurch from your throne, climbing down to the arena as best as you can with a swollen belly and heavy dress. As Steve works on getting Bucky untangled from Shield’s mount, you see the trail of blood caked into the dirt. The blond gets his friend down as soon as you reach the two, and in that moment, you realize that it is you who is screaming. The nauseating sound of two different metals rubbing against each other as Steve lays Bucky down on the ground and pushes off his helmet sends a jolt of pain to your stomach. 

There is a ringing in your ears when you see his face, the black of the kohl making every wince and grimace seem more intense. There is blood pooling around his neck where his armor opens and as Steve stands, yelling out orders, you kneel beside Bucky, pulling his head into your lap. Your hand cradles his cheek as he looks up at you with an agonized expression, gritting his teeth. He tries to reach up to you with his left arm, but as soon as he lifts it, the pain overtakes him. You start screaming for help as his head lolls in your lap. Bucky’s arm drops with a thud as your heart beats out of your chest, lungs burning with every inhale. The blood flows from every possible crack in your husband’s armor, mixing with the dirt and the lace of your dress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of angst in this chapter and my first time writing T’Challa, which is weird in the confines of this super specific au, but I really liked writing him so hopefully he’ll make more appearances in my fics!  
> Thank you so much to [racheltheclumsy](https://racheltheclumsy.tumblr.com/) for designing MC's [dresses!](https://racheltheclumsy.tumblr.com/post/177289928785/it-wouldnt-post-the-first-time-so-heres-take-2#notes)  
> If you want to earn a free request be a frequent commenter on my fics!


	12. Chapter 12

The unconsciousness lasts for a week, and they are the scariest days of your life. Steve’s unbalanced lance had pierced Bucky’s shoulder that was already damaged from war. The blood loss had been too great, and you can only imagine how blinding the pain was and still is. The doctors that Peggy called to her castle to care for Bucky are constantly around him, buzzing like flies to honey at the prospect of healing the queen’s favorite cousin. Although you would love to say that you never left his side, it has been hard for you to be in the same room as his seemingly unoccupied, broken body. Seeing him like this sends terrifying pains to your stomach and intense nausea. 

This morning you have finally gathered enough courage to sit with him, as the maids who assist the doctors have been pressing you to be near him. You take a deep breath as you cross the threshold of the room they have been keeping your husband in. There is already a chair next to where he lay, and you rest your hand on your protruding stomach as you sink down into the cushioned seat. 

It takes a moment for you to look at him, and you breathe a sigh of relief when you see how much better he looks than the last time you visited. Color seems to have returned to what you can see of his face, as his stubble has grown thicker than usual. The bandage on his shoulder is clean from any blood or infection, and you skirt your fingers along the edge of it. The previous visit, he kept bleeding through the dressing, and a maid had to constantly change it in front of you. No matter how hard you have scrubbed your hands clean, you can still feel his sticky, hot blood between your fingers from the day of the accident. 

The emotions bubble up in your chest, and as you try to close your eyes in an attempt to contain them, a few tears slip out. You slide your hand from his injury to his chest, the rising and falling of his ribs reminding you that death has yet to take him. However, you had overheard a doctor say that every day he spends asleep his chances drop, and that intrusive thought sends more tears falling down your cheeks. 

As you let out quiet sobs, you lay over him, head resting over his heart and hands clutching his body. Your tears flow freely, soaking into his skin as you whimper, “Please wake up.”

Even after all that he has put you through, despite all of his flaws, you love him. And the part that makes your heart ache and your stomach flip is that you have never told him. As you lay over him, draped like a blanket protecting his body, you plea and cry into his chest for him to awaken, to get better, for another chance. The thought of him dying while you were not on speaking terms makes you want to die right alongside him. There is so much left to be said between you, so much more to discover about each other, and for the future that is growing inside of you. 

Your mind is swarmed with dark thoughts as you continue to weep so loudly that you almost miss it. “Ouch…”

Bucky’s body begins to shift underneath you, and you shoot up at the movement. Wide eyes meet groggy, familiarly blue ones, and you start crying for the right reasons. Without caution you throw yourself back onto him, your hands cradling his face as you fiercely press your lips against his. His right hand lifts to catch your forearm, but his left remains unmoving. 

“Ow,” he mumbles against your mouth and you pull away to lift off his body, realizing you were leaning too much on his bandaged shoulder. 

“I’m sorry-“ you both say in unison, and you laugh through your tears, wiping your salt stained cheeks with the sleeve of your dress before returning your hand to his face.

The cloudiness of his eyes is disappearing as he says again, “I’m sorry.” 

Shaking your head, you brush your fingers against his beard before threading them through his hair. You cannot help but lean back down to kiss him again. Although you were aching for his touch while you were not speaking, the thought of never having him again made your skin numb. Now, every part of you that is touching him feels sparked back to life. But when you pull away, your smile falters at his expression.

There it was again, a flash of pity in his face even though he is the one laying on what could have been his deathbed. “I did not… want these expectations and burdens to fall completely on your shoulders,” he says as his voice grows quieter with every word.

“Then why did you shut me out?” you ask, eyes burning from the need to cry again.

His hand parts from your arm to rub his temples in thought. “I don’t know. I have been alone for so long, I just needed time to think?” he says, ending in a kind of question as you can tell that it is his best guess for his actions. 

You start to pull away from him, his answers only making your heart hurt and more questions pile into your already crowded mind. There is such a strange feeling in your chest from the contrasting emotions of relief that he is doing better and the negative things you bottled up when he would barely look you in the eyes. Standing up, you rub your cheeks again and sniffle as he starts to explain himself further

“Every time I look at you, I am praying that I’m not ruining you. And now, you’re…” he trails off, glancing down to your abdomen then sighing softly, “I am making everything worse.”

“I should get the doctor,” you say half-heartedly, smoothing out the sides of your dress as you begin to step back.

With a hard wince, Bucky’s left hand catches your wrist to stop you, “Wait…”

Your brow furrows at the pain he gave himself to stop you, and you move closer to his side. His fingers shake against your skin, and his jaw is clenched as he lets go of your wrist and moves his hand towards your body. “Bucky stop, you’re hurting yourself-” you pause as you realize what he is doing, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your dress stretched over your stomach. Pressing your palm against the back of his hand, you push it against your belly and it stops shaking.

His blue eyes are staring into yours as he repeats for the third time, “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” you breathe before leaning back over and kissing him gently. The baby moves in response to the warmth of its father’s touch and you smile against his lips. 

The sound of someone clearing their throat from the doorway causes you to stand back up, still holding Bucky’s hand in place. The doctor lets himself in once you two have broken apart and immediately goes to examine Bucky saying, “Welcome back your majesty, you gave everyone quite the scare.” 

Bucky’s hesitant eyes flicker between you and the doctor before shutting them suddenly as the stranger presses down on the wound. He bares his teeth at the pain and his left hand goes limp against your stomach, your hold the only thing keeping it lifted. Suddenly, there is an arm around your waist, and a maid that had followed the doctor in is urging you to let go of your husband. You are getting that sickening feeling in your chest again as you watch the doctor examine Bucky’s arm further, only giving him more discomfort. As the usually quiet man yells out in agony, you allow the maid to take his hand from you and lead you away from the gut-wrenching sounds. 

You turn around in the maid’s arms for one last look at him, prepared to say something, but as you open your mouth, nothing exits. Bucky is writhing on the table, too lost in his pain for him to hear or see you. Another maid has entered and is patting his forehead down with a cold compress as the doctor continues his necessary torture to see the extent of the damage. You press your hand against your stomach as the maid leads you to a sitting room, resting you on a chair and fetching you a cup of tea. 

Still thinking of his face contorted and his shaky arm, you stare blankly at the cup handed to you. The maid says something, but you are too wrapped up in your thoughts to hear her. She gives up eventually and leaves you alone. You watch the steam leave the hot liquid and wonder if it would have been better if he had never woken up. Just the thought sends a wave of nausea over you and you shake your head to clear it.

After a while longer of being unaccompanied, many footsteps echo through the halls into the room you are in. Peggy emerges, followed by her gaggle of ladies in waiting, and her husband. She seems out of breath, as though she sprinted from wherever she was in her castle to come find you. “I heard he is awake!” she exclaims as she waves away her ladies and pulls Steve into the room, both sitting in front of you.

You muster up a smile and nod, setting your cold cup of tea down beside you, “This morning.”

“Why did you not call for me sooner?”

“I did not call for you at all. He is in a lot of pain,” you say, your voice growing somber.

Peggy’s own smile starts to fade at your words and she gives a worried glance to Steve. He shifts in his seat and as you scan his face all you can think of is how guilty he looks. He scratches his stubble that he let grow in solidarity of his best friend and averts his eyes from yours. 

Reaching over, you rest your hand on his bicep, “Stop. Everyone has already told you that it was not your fault.”

It seems hard for him to face the pregnant wife of someone he almost killed and his whole body tenses at your touch. With a clenched jaw, he says, “I should not have used that lance. I knew it felt off, but I said nothing. He is hurt from both my silence and my actions.”

“Brock gave you the lance, Bucky’s pain is his cause,” you counter before bringing your hand back to your lap.

“I know, and he has already gone. Running away from his consequences to France,” Steve says, still not looking at you directly.

“Wait, it was Rumlow?” Peggy questions as she was not present for the accident, “Why did you not tell me?”

Steve goes quiet, the guilt clearly washing over his face and he simply shrugs his wide shoulders. Peggy’s own face has turned calculating, her brows knit together as she thinks. You glance between the two, unsure of what is happening and the need to return to Bucky’s side tugging at your heartstrings. The silence of the room is deafening until Steve finally ventures, “Does it matter now? He left in the midst of the chaos, no one could have stopped him.”

“Someone should have stopped him,” Peggy states, her raised, hardened voice startling both you and Steve, “Someone should have told me.”

“Why?” Steve inches forward in his seat as he asks, knowing that his wife’s lips pressed in a thin line and her fists balled up beside her can mean nothing good.

In this moment, Peggy has never looked more frightening or stronger. The fire of determination in her eyes burns as she answers, “I was given reports of some movement on the French seaside. If Brock truly tried to murder Bucky and defected to France, then something is very wrong, and I intend to find out what it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AhHhH, the suspense……. the drama……. we are really in the throes of it now!  
> If you want to earn a free request be a frequent commenter on my fics!


	13. Chapter 13

The following month drags by slowly as the hard to come by information renders it difficult to truly figure out what is happening with France. There are long meetings with other royals speculating what is going on and the English parliament is urgently trying to get a hold of the situation. The celebration has turned to something else, a tension in the air that everyone can feel and Peggy is too caught up in her duties to play a gracious host. Many have left early, and few remain as it has come to the cold end of summer.

Although you have sat in at some meetings as the representative of Sokovia, you have spent most of your time with Bucky. Once he was finally given the all clear and moved back to your shared bed, you have not wanted to leave him again. He has gotten progressively better, the pain in his arm slowly ebbing away as the wound fully heals. It is a pink scar among old, pale white ones but soon it will not look so out of place on his body. He is not one to complain, but he has mentioned numbness in his fingers and you have seen his inability to grasp anything tightly. You have started a nightly ritual of helping him stretch the damaged muscles and rubbing salves and oils onto his arm that the doctors left for him.

He has been trying to make amends for his behavior, and although you have accepted his apology, he wears the same guilt as Steve. While he was bed-ridden, he would always keep you flushed against the right side of his body, his good arm holding you tightly. You would read to him or debrief him on the information slowly trickling in. The child growing inside of you seems to be stealing all of your energy, so you would often just fall asleep with your head resting on his chest. Thankfully, he has gotten well enough to join you to the meetings and outings with Peggy, where he trails behind you, his fingers always intertwined with yours. 

Bucky does not seem to be too involved with the discussions, the only thing he has any emotional investment in is his sister. There have been no letters from her for the entirety you have been at the castle, and it is suspected that they have been intercepted before reaching either party. Whenever she is mentioned, he asks for a team to be sent to get her, but Peggy rejects the idea, so she will stay neutral and safe. The man is not pleased with her decision but respects her authority as queen. 

This afternoon, you are sitting with Bucky in the garden, eating some apple slices he asked to be picked for you since you mentioned you were craving them. He is seated next to you, carving into a piece of wood with a knife to strengthen his grip. There is a meeting going on right now, but neither of you could be bothered today, wanting to enjoy some fresh air in the last leg of summer. He is talking about Rebecca as his hands work, and you adjust your hat, so the sun does not glare into your eyes while you listen.

“One time she kicked the hell out of one of the cooks for rationing her food,” he chuckles and brushes the wood chips off of his lap, “To get back on her good side, he served her an entire platter of bacon for dinner. My mother was furious.”

You smile and ask, “Did she eat it all?” before popping another apple slice into your mouth.

With a wide grin he says, “Of course she did. She will never back away from a challenge.”

Before you get the chance to ask anymore of his sister that you have yet to meet, one of the maids stands in front of you, curtseying before relaying a message, “Your majesties, Queen Margaret has asked for you in the great hall.”

Sighing, you excuse the nervous young woman and watch Bucky stand, tucking his knife away and saying, “Guess we have been summoned.” His good arm reaches out to help you up, your ever-growing belly making it hard for you to stand from a low seat. Once back on your feet, you keep your arm looped in his and walk to the great hall. 

The doors are opened for you, and as you walk into the vast room, a silence falls over the table. Everyone stands at your arrival, except for one person. Sitting at the head of the table is a beautiful woman with long red hair flowing from under an elaborate headdress. Tsarevna Natasha, the Russian princess has finally arrived. She smirks when she sees you, her green eyes flitting down to your stomach before saying, “So this is who everything has been about?”

You are too confused to answer, your grip tightening onto Bucky’s arm. Peggy waves you over to two empty seats and as you walk to the queen, you can feel Natasha’s gaze burning into you. You try not to look directly at her, and quickly scan the other faces sitting at the table. Two you are surprised to see: T’Challa who was anxious to get back to his family, but prolonged his stay and Thor, who left before Bucky’s injury, has returned without his brother. Your chest feels tight when you see all of their somber expressions. 

“What is going on?” you ask, trying to project your voice as to not show weakness while you and Bucky take your seats. 

Natasha cocks an eyebrow and asserts, “You really do not know?” She folds her hands together on the tabletop and gives Peggy a pointed look. 

The queen you have grown so close to looks muted, all liveliness gone and only a sad seriousness remaining, “I did not want to upset her, given her condition. But now we must.”

“Then I suppose it is on me to tell her of Rumlow?” the fiery new addition to the castle ponders with no interest in anyone answering her. With a point of her finger, she starts, “You two were not supposed to marry. I’m sure you know that you had other potential fiancés, and that you know Brock was one of them.”

With a shaky nod, you can feel all eyes on you, and you are so thankful for Bucky’s hand holding yours tightly under the table. Peggy interjects, leaning forward so you can see her sympathy, “I ruined his plan, he meant for Bucky to remain unmarried, so Rebecca would be the heir to the throne, along with the French prince and so that Brock could have control over Sokovia.”

Both you and Bucky have been well aware of your obligations to produce an heir, but this underlying scheme seems too big of a conspiracy to be real. The corner of your mouth twitches into a disbelieving frown as you look back at Natasha. She continues her explanation with a tense expression, “I know this because he tried it with me and the Russian hierarchy. We were set to be married until it was revealed he was working for an underground legion that has been trying to infiltrate the bloodline for centuries, Hydra. After being found out, with many of my family member’s lives lost, he fled here.”

“So, there is reason to believe there are Hydra spies in England?” Steve inquires, knowing what the answer is, but hoping not.

“Most likely in the castle,” Natasha states and you see Peggy bring a closed fist to her forehead in frustration as the rest of the table rustles in their seats.

T’Challa speaks up, his face firm, “Why did you not warn anyone?”

With a disrespectful roll of her eyes, Natasha scoffs, “We in Russia do not share our business lightly.” This causes an uproar of voices challenging her, but you are focused on hearing more. You can practically feel Bucky’s anxiety for the fate of his sister, and he pulls his hand away from yours to produce his knife.

With a slam, he stabs it into the table and deepens his voice to shout, “ _Stop._ ” Silence returns in an instant and he gestures for Natasha to keep talking.

“Anyways, clearly he was the one who attempted to murder King James. If he had died, your heir would not have been recognized, or he would have caused such an upset for you to lose it,” she keeps her eyes locked onto yours, as if you are the only one in the room and it is upsetting, “When that did not work, he moved onto France. I have sources that say their years of war with England were caused by Hydra upset in the nobility.” 

“I’m sorry my queen,” Thor speaks up and seeing a frown on his normally happy face sends a shiver down your spine, “My brother… has also been involved. He tricked our father and most of the Norwegian army has been sent to France.”

“What?” you breathe, all of the new information swirling in your mind, “Why did he send an army? Who are they attacking?” The air becomes even thicker as no one dares to answer you. You whip your head around and it is as though everyone avoids meeting your panicked eyes. Beginning to feel sick, you rub your hand across your stomach and you strangle out the same question, “Who are they attacking?”

Natasha is the only one brave enough to answer you, and even her stoicism is replaced with sympathy as she says, “Sokovia.”

Your entire body tenses in fear, every muscle and nerve ending feeling as though you are drowning in ice water. While trying to keep your composure that is quickly slipping through your fingers, you let out a strangled, “W-What? N-No.” 

Now everyone that you have grown to admire and respect is looking at you with pity. It makes your skin crawl and if you were not so wrapped up in your thoughts of your home country you would dash out of the room. You do not realize how desperately you are clutching to your husband's arm until he softly rests his hand over yours. Turning to look at him with wide, fearful eyes, you are met with his strong profile and the familiar tensing of his jaw. You can see the same fear in his eyes as he says, “Then we go to war.”

Before you can say anything, Peggy is shaking her head, her hardened voice something that you wish you will never have to hear again, “I do not wish to be like my father. I will not force you into another battle.”

“Bucky,” you say with a shaky voice and he turns to look at you, the normal blue of his eyes clouded. 

“I will do anything for you, and for my country,” as the words leave his lips, you realize that he no longer means England, but of the island country he married into. He is, after all, their king.

Natasha's voice interrupts your moment as she reminds the table, “This is exactly what Hydra wants. King James dead before the heir is born and a weakened army.” 

“But there is no other way to win,” Bucky responds, his eyes never leaving yours. Your heart feels torn between two very real threats. You do not want Bucky to put his life on the line, but your role as queen demands you to make sacrifices for your country. How unfair is it to allow Bucky to make these sacrifices for a place and a people that he has never had any contact with.

However, there is something else in play, a kind of poetic sealed fate that Bucky has already thought of. He is staring so deeply into your eyes that you may burst into tears at any moment. A rough hand comes up to brush across your cheek and as it drops to press against your rounded belly, he smiles in acceptance.

There is a buzz in the room that you ignore in this intimate moment, only brought back when you hear T'Challa's voice break over the sound of the others while he gets up, “Wakanda is with you. I will send word tonight for the Dora Milaje to prepare.” 

Thor’s voice booms with confidence as he bangs his fist on the table and stands as well, “I, and the Valkyrie, stand with you as well.”

That addictive feeling of hope floods back into your veins and your heart warms at the support and safety that your tiny country is given. Others join in standing, and you excitedly turn back to Bucky to see his reaction, but his small smile seems unnatural on his lips. A sort of vacancy has taken over his features, only shaken when you softly say his name and squeeze his hand. He tilts his head to look at you, and as his smile disappears the sinking feeling in your stomach knows that something is terribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Female armies unite to bring down Hydra, as God intended and as I’ve dreamed of.  
> Thank you so much to [racheltheclumsy](https://racheltheclumsy.tumblr.com/) for designing Natasha's [dress!](https://racheltheclumsy.tumblr.com/post/177314989035/natasha-as-a-russian-princess-this-is-for-the#notes)  
> If you want to earn a free request be a frequent commenter on my fics!


	14. Chapter 14

After an uncommunicative two weeks with your husband, you are truly beginning to worry. Since that fateful meeting he has buried himself in the work that he knows all too well. The number of hours that he has spent in training, overseeing weapon production, and standing with Sam and Steve over maps of your country would make anyone overexerted. When he does come to bed on time, while you are massaging and stretching his arm, he seems empty. He tosses and turns next to you in his sleep, sometimes waking up in the dead of night in a cold sweat, and tonight is no different. 

You feel the bed jolt as he sits up, breath labored as he tries not to make any noise. Sleepily, you reach over and touch the warm spot where he once lay as you murmur, “It’s okay.” He says nothing to your attempt to soothe him, so you push yourself up to sit as well. Blinking your eyes, you adjust to the darkness and see his profile, staring at the wall. “Is it your arm?” you ask as quietly as you can, reaching across his chest to touch his left shoulder. 

Bucky immediately reacts to your touch, twisting around to grab ahold of your hip with his right arm. As he pulls you into his lap, his head falls against the crook of your neck and you can feel his balmy skin through your nightgown. You massage the muscles of his injury gently, but when you press too hard he winces in a short breath against your shoulder and squeezes your hip. You both know that his arm will never fully heal right, and this pain will be with him for the rest of his life, but his emotional turmoil is only making it worse.

“Please talk to me,” you plead, stopping your massaging to cup his jaw in your hand, tilting his head up so he will look at you. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Say something, anything! You’re holding so much in,” you press your forehead against his, barely grazing your mouth against those plump lips you love so much. He sighs as he is so emotionally exhausted and knowing that you already know how he is feeling, but wanting him to speak it into existence is something he has been avoiding. “Bucky, please,” you urge, and he finally relents.

“I don’t… I don’t want to go to war again. I have so much more to lose now, (Y/N),” he starts, pausing while both of his hands move to your round belly, “What if I don’t come back?”

“Oh, Bucky,” you whisper and rest your hands over his, “You have the strongest royals beside you this time and the fact that so much is on the line makes me believe in you so much more. There is not a single doubt in my mind that you will all win and end Hydra for good.”

There are no magic words for you to say that will erase all of his anxiety and past trauma, but it does make him feel better in this moment to hear you voice your confidence. You can feel his palms pressing more firmly against your stomach and his soft breath against your lips. These silent, intimate moments with your husband are more than you could ever ask for, and you gratefully lean further against his touch. “I love you.”

After a pause, you pull your forehead away from his, eyes wide in the dark of the night. Those words have never been uttered out loud before by either of you. Although you have felt the love between you, and you irrevocably love him as well, there was such a long period of time where you thought you would never hear anyone say that to you again.

“I love you,” you repeat before sliding your hands up his chest that feels hot to the touch. He quickly catches your lips in his, and the fact that you can feel him smiling sends flutters to your heart. He rests his left arm back down beside him, but his right wraps around you, his body curling around the bump of your stomach to be as close to you as possible.

You do not know what nightmares woke him, but they are a distant thought as he kisses you passionately. He melts under your touch and you know you will not be getting any more sleep tonight. The surface of Bucky’s turmoil has barely been scratched, but knowing that you are on his side and that you believe in him completely has contented a dark part of his insecurities. This night there is no telling what the future holds, but there is no force in the world that could keep you apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The short intermission chapter for part two! Love you all!  
> If you want to earn a free request be a frequent commenter on my fics!


	15. Chapter 15

**Part Three**

Fall steadily rolls into the castle and settles as the next month and a half passes quickly. There is so much preparation to be done before Bucky and the English allies ship off to Sokovia, and your amazement at the resources and money that have gone into protecting your country only keeps expanding as more people offer help. There is no royal who has stayed since Peggy’s summer celebration who has not pledged their loyalty to your crown and although it is overwhelming, it is exhilarating. The amount of support you have received and the confidence and determination everyone carries makes you feel strong and hopeful.

Bucky has been testing out some new guns with Sam all day, leaving you to your own devices. After snatching some excess turnips from the dining hall, hiding them in the folds of your thick, navy blue dress, you make your way to the stables. Shield had also been injured during the attack on your husband’s life, so you have taken him treats whenever possible to improve his mood. He has healed even better than his owner, the hair on his hind leg finally growing back properly over the gash. 

The door to the large stable is open, so you cautiously enter, making a beeline for Shield and Winter’s shared stall. As you approach, their heads do not pop up as usual and you slow your stride. Suddenly, the latch clicks and the stall door swings open. With a surprised squeal, all the vegetables you smuggled fall to the ground. An equally surprised yelp escapes the mousy haired culprit. As your heartrate goes back to normal, you recognize his big, brown eyes that go wide when he sees who he startled. He awkwardly bows then starts to pick up the turnips you dropped while stuttering out an apology, “Q-Queen (Y/N)! I am s-so sorry your majesty, your grace!”

“What were you doing in there?” you question as Bucky’s horses finally appear to see what all the commotion is about.

The boy stands back up to his full height, arms full of turnips with the most shocked look on his face. “A-Ah? Brushing… them?” he answers, clearly unsure of what you want him to say. 

“Are you a stable boy?” you ask with a raised brow, “Weren’t you also the flagger for jousting?” His face goes white, and as one of the unruly vegetables falls back to the ground, he just gapes at you like a fish before picking it back up. There is anger burning the back of your throat as you continue your interrogation, “Why did you run away after you starting the round? Did you know what was going to happen to my husband?”

He shakes his head fiercely, finding his voice again as he defends himself, “N-No! I had… a terrible feeling, I felt danger.”

Shield’s whinny distracts you from the terrified young man, the horse clearly wanting the treats you brought him. “Come,” you say as you walk to the stall, the boy following you obediently. You take some of the turnips from his hold and feed them to your horses. Glancing over your shoulder, you ask another question, “What is your name?”

“P-Peter… Parker.”

“Parker,” you murmur, continuing to treat the horses, “No relation to May Parker, I assume?”

“That’s my aunt, y-your majesty, she’s worked for King James’ family a-all her life.”

Once all the vegetables are gone, you turn around fully to give him a once over. He has his hands hidden behind his back that are no doubt shaking with fear, but knowing he is related to one of your favorite people in England eases anger. You open your mouth to inquire something else, but the sound of the heavy stable door closing, and the sudden loss of natural light makes your blood run cold. Peter looks more frightened than ever in the candlelight from the torches on the walls, and you step forward, past the young man to see who trapped you inside. 

“Pierce?” you say, confusion lacing your voice as your eyes adjust and you see his wrinkled face and sandy hair. It is difficult to see the rest of him, as he is wearing all black, including gloves. He takes a step towards you, and his mouth twists into a silent, wicked grin. The glint of metal catches your eye as a long dagger slides out from his sleeve. Before you can even let out a gasp, Peter gently pushes you behind him, puffing out his chest protectively. 

“You’d better leave now, Lord Pierce,” the boy tries his best to sound menacing, betrayed by his voice cracking, causing the man to just laugh at him.

“Out of the way, boy.”

Peter does not move an inch, firmly standing his ground to protect you, clearly angering Pierce further. You reach behind your back slowly, your fingers pressing against the wood of the stable wall until you find what you are looking for. “So, you’re the Hydra agent,” you say, hoping for him to wait to attack in order to respond to your claim.

“Stupid girl, I am so much more than an _agent_ ,” he snarls as your hand gingerly wraps around the handle of a shovel you had seen leaning against the stable earlier. As silently as you can, taking advantage of the dark lighting and Peter’s shadow covering your movements, you bring the tool forward while Pierce continues to rant, “Who do you think trained Rumlow and so many others infiltrating this palace as we speak? As if he was smart enough to send himself to Russia after Duchess Rebecca’s engagement or to flee when they started killing all of the Russian nobles? I am exhausted of him getting all the recognition when he is nothing but a tool, and a dull one at that. He was not even able to kill _one_ man and it is yet again left to me to clean up the mess.”

“You don’t have to kill me,” you pretend to plead, thankful that this man is selfish enough to explain himself as you nudge the shovel against the boy’s closed fist until he takes it from you.

A sick laugh escapes his thin lips as he answers, “Yes, I do. I have to kill that abomination inside of you as well.” Anger swells in your chest as he takes a step towards you both, raising the dagger to strike. 

“ _Now_ ,” you call out, and Peter immediately swings the shovel up with all of his strength. It violently connects with Pierce’s jaw. A sickening crack echoes in the stable followed by the sound of both Pierce and the shovel dropping to the dirt covered ground. The horses are upset by the loud sound, neighing and nickering noisily. Both you and Peter stand there, chests heaving from fright as the big stable door reopens once again. 

A couple of confused servants enter, their eyes widening as they examine the scene before them. One commands a young man to run and get Bucky when he sees you and the other sprints off at his order. The one in charge approaches you with a bow before asking what happened.

“I…” you do not know where to begin, your eyes welling with hormonal tears and focusing on Peter’s back, who has not moved a muscle since bringing down Pierce. Ignoring the question, you carefully walk over the hay and dirt to stand in front of the boy. His hands are shaking once again, and you grab them to help stop it.

In a quiet, scared voice, he asks, “A-Am I going to be in trouble, y-your majesty?” 

“No,” you say firmly, “You saved my life, and my baby’s.” As you squeeze his dirt covered hands, so calloused at such a young age from all his work, he finally breaks from his stupor to smile. “King James and I owe you, anything you want.”

He perks up at your words, and you can tell by how quickly his eyes dart across your face that he has already thought about this, “I-If your highness would be so kind, could I please have a job at your castle with my aunt? B-Both of my parents died of the sweating sickness years ago.”

Your maternal instincts are going into overdrive for this young man who could not be over the age of sixteen, and you nod exuberantly. The grin on the boy’s face makes it all worthwhile, until his brown eyes glance over your shoulder at the older servant examining Pierce’s body. Letting go of his hands, you turn to watch. He pulls his hand away from the other’s chest and stands back up. 

Before you can ask of his status, a bustle of people enter the stable, Bucky and Sam leading the crowd and your husband immediately comes to your side. He too asks, “My love, what happened?” while he pulls you against his body, his touch instantly comforting you.

You try your best to explain Pierce’s villainy, all the things he said about himself, Rumlow, and the mention of other agents in Peggy’s castle. Bucky stays silent throughout until you give the body a concerned glance and ask the servant, “Is he still alive?”

“His heart still beats, your majesty,” the servant answers in a gruff tone.

The cold look on your husband’s face sends a shiver down your spine as he commands, “Take him to the tower. If he wakes, he will face the axe.”

You clutch to Bucky as Sam oversees the servants take the body out of the stable. Wanting a distraction from the thought of Pierce losing his head, you part from Bucky to pull him over to the boy who has been slinking away from the commotion. “This is May’s nephew, Peter,” you introduce, “he so bravely protected me. I’ve invited him to come join our staff at home.” 

“Of course,” Bucky does not miss a beat before shaking the timid boy’s hand, “with that valor, you may have what it takes to be one of the queen’s knights when you are older.”

At a loss for words, Peter only stutters a thanks before he is whisked away by the stable master. There are many people passing around you, but you hold onto Bucky’s right arm and look at the spot where Pierce once lay. Running a hand across the curve of your stomach, you can feel the baby calmly turn. You were not the main target of the attack, you would have just been a casualty while they tried to destroy the little life inside of you before it even got a chance to live. Fear creeps back into your bloodstream at who else may try to come after you, and Bucky gingerly takes your wrist, pulling your hand up to kiss your palm.

“Let’s go back to our room, we can have dinner there,” he states, picking up on your shifting mood and always suggesting exactly what you needed. With a confirming nod from you, he leads you back into the castle, one that you had trusted but now carries a bad aura. Bucky must feel it too, as you catch him giving second glances around darker corners and pulling you aside when people pass by.

As soon as you are back in your room, before the door even fully closes and you have a chance to sit down, Bucky starts talking, “I know the plan was for you to stay here with Peggy, but I can’t… I can’t risk anything happening to you and the baby.” 

“Should I go back to our castle?” you question, feeling the same way about escaping this place.

He shakes his head, brow furrowed in thought as he comes over to help you out of your heavy and dirtied clothes. As he kneels to help you slip out of your shoes then works his way up to your dress, he says, “I’ll send Peter back with protection for the staff there, just in case. But, you…” His deep blue eyes lock with yours before the rest of your clothes are off, “I need you with me.”

Feeling bare, and frightened, you cross your arms over your chest as you whisper, “I cannot go into a warzone.”

“Your castle is safe, darling, the enemy is on the other side of the island,” he assures as his hands slip down to your belly, “you know all of the secret rooms and places where you’ll be safe. If all else fails, there will be a ship on standby to take you and your people away.”

“Our people,” you correct, “you are their king. Going to battle for them, for me.”

“Then you agree?” he asks hopefully, his eyes searching yours. You always get so lost in the blue, you would say yes to anything he says as long as he’ll look at you like this forever.

“Yes,” you say after a pause, then start to undress him, “besides, I’d like to have the baby born in Sokovia.” He smiles as you take off the top of his outfit, leaving his chest as bare as yours. Instinctively moving closer to him, his lips easily find yours. Your kiss is cut short by gasps from both of you as a very small, but strong foot kicks you from the inside. Both looking down at your round belly, you rest your hands on top of your husband’s as you ask, “Did you feel that?”

Although the doctors say your stomach is growing at a healthy rate, your baby has been elusive, only moving softly during the dark hours of the night. You feel everything of course, but when you quickly grab Bucky or Peggy’s hand and press it to where you felt it, they have not been able to. A part of you has enjoyed it, like a secret that only you and your baby share. But in this moment, as the little thing kicks its hardest to make itself known, you are so thankful that the father of your child can feel it as well. 

Lifting up your head, you watch Bucky smiling as big as you have ever seen down at your stomach. It does not feel as though there will ever be a right choice in war, but you do not ever want to leave your husband’s side, and it seems like your baby agrees. Once the little kicks stop, Bucky moves his arms around you to envelope you in the warmth of his body. As you press the side of you head against his chest, hearing his heartbeat and soothed by the rhythm, you close your eyes. You will not be homesick for much longer, as Sokovia calls you back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What I had planned when I first started this fic has morphed into something that I don’t even recognize, so every new chapter is just as exciting for me lol  
> If you want to earn a free request be a frequent commenter on my fics!


	16. Chapter 16

It takes a month before the English ships set sail to Sokovia, and another week to actually get there. It is hard to think about how long war takes, how perfectly planned everything has had to be to defeat Hydra for good. England has been in constant contact with Norway and Wakanda for this to work. The Valkyrie have been sent early, pretending to be sided with Loki and Hydra to make sure things are delayed and Sokovia is protected. The English will come in strong from the North, where your castle is to set a base, then sweep the island to rid all Hydra armies. Wakanda, led by the Dora Milaje, will be swiftly coming in from the South to stop as many boats as possible, as enemy reinforcements are bound to be called. This all must be done with as little casualties as possible, as the armies may be Hydra, but the individuals are not. 

You know every plan backwards and upside down at this point. Since Pierce’s attack, you have not been left alone for a minute, tagging along to most tactical meetings and helping Bucky and Peggy pen letters to their allies. That evil man woke up to find himself imprisoned in the Tower of London, only to be beheaded by Bucky’s command that same day. Although it was a huge spectacle, neither of you attended, spending that day sitting in front of the fire and planning on how to get Rebecca back. 

Peggy and Sam are the only ones staying behind, so you tried to spend the most time with them before the ships set sail. The short fall has already come and gone in the English countryside, and the bitter sting of winter is in the air. Instead of going to war, Peggy should have been planning the Winter festivities, but both Christmas and New Year’s will be spent fighting or cleaning up Hydra’s mess. Before you shipped off, Peggy gave you an early present, an expensive, gem encrusted baby rattle and the most beautiful, crisp white christening gown you have ever seen. You cried when you said your goodbyes to her and Sam, feeling as though you are leaving part of your family behind. 

You are crying now, as the main ship pulls into the harbor of Sokovia, the others following close behind. It is just as you left it, waves crashing onto sandy beaches, hundreds of small fishing boats dotting the ocean around you, and your sturdy castle peeking out from over the rolling hills. The wind whipping in from the ocean is cool, and you are thankful for your thick, fur-lined brown dress. You are dizzy off the nostalgia, holding tightly onto Bucky’s arms around your belly as he stands behind you. His chest stretches behind your back as he takes a deep breath of the salty air in. 

“I’m home,” you whisper to the waves, and you feel the soft kiss of your husband’s lips on your shoulder. 

Once the ship is fully settled, you are the first to get off, dragging Bucky with you as you are eager to return to land. As soon as you step foot on the dock, you are surrounded by your people, who have come to welcome you back with open arms. Familiar faces of those who have helped raise you, who have taught you, who have grown beside you bless you with seemingly all the flowers on the island. There are strings of colorful flowers around your neck, crowning your head, and bundled in your arms. You are so incredibly elated that your cheeks hurt from smiling. 

Turning to check on your husband, you see that the Sokovians have given him the same treatment, and his face look so much more beautiful smiling, surrounded by flowers. As you two are whisked away to your castle, you see that everyone stepping off the ship is greeted with flowers, from Steve, the king of England, to the dirty, young ship hand who was following with trunks of clothes. It makes your chest swell with pride you are from such a beautiful country with such caring people, only fueling your fire to protect them from the threat of Hydra. 

Although the carriage ride to your castle is short, you make sure to point out landmarks and houses to Bucky, eager to share everything about this place with him. He entertains your antics, asking questions when you have that look that you desperately want to say something until he gets the words spilling out of you. The way he listens and looks at you with those blue eyes that match the ocean so perfectly makes you so happy that he was the one chosen for you.

Once at the entrance, you are slowly led inside while more people greet and embrace you. You feel Bucky’s fingers wrap around your wrist as to not lose you in the crowd, and you flash him a grin. Music fills your ears when you enter into your grand hall. It has been expertly decorated for your arrival, a feast laid out for you and the people you brought from England to enjoy before setting off to war. You are too overwhelmed by all this love shown to you, and your baby feels it, kicking energetically to let you know.

The magnificent room smells sickly sweet from all the florals, and you are beginning to feel lightheaded. Bucky helps seat you at the head table, where you have a good view of the doorway. You watch as the English that you came with enter, merging with your people until your two previously separate worlds collide. Despite the verge of war, this is the happiest that you have ever been. 

Bucky stands beside your chair, a hand on your shoulder as he speaks with one of the members of your parliament. Through the music and the chatter, his voice cuts through clearly as if it was a melody you have known all your life. Closing your eyes to listen with a smile on your soft lips, you run your hand over the ever-growing curve of your stomach, the physical embodiment of your and Bucky’s love. You are home, and you are so, so happy.

\--

The rest of the day is a blur, full of celebration, music, and quick preparation for the upcoming battles, as the first wave of English soldiers are to leave tonight in the cover of darkness. Now you are in your old bedroom, watching the maids pull the sheets off your furniture from the doorway. The flame of the candlestick you hold flutters each time another sheet comes down to the ground, blowing a gust of dusty air towards you. You are already dressed down to your nightwear, with one last flower tucked behind your ear. 

Bucky is meeting one last time with Steve before saying goodbye to you, and your ladies in waiting have taken this opportunity to introduce you to the midwife. As soon as the last sheet is collected and folded, the maids clear the room and you sit down in your favorite chair, placing the candle next to you for some light. A polite knock echoes and you turn your head back to the doorway while you say, “Come in.”

An elderly lady enters, followed closely by a woman with red hair who looks to be younger than you. The older woman stays silent as she curtsies, but once the younger stands back up straight, she clears her throat and explains, “Queen (Y/N), this is your midwife, she has delivered hundreds of children in Sokovia.”

“Can she not speak for herself?” you ask with a raised brow.

“No, she cannot speak,” the woman’s hand rests on her elder’s arm with a smile, “I am Wanda, I’m training under her and acting as her voice.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you both,” you do not mean to sound dismissive as you stand to indicate that they should take their leave, but you are exhausted from today’s events, “but my husband is to return soon. Please, make yourselves comfortable in the rooms my ladies have prepared for you.”

“Of course, your majesty,” Wanda says, her eyes flicking down to your stomach and a small smirk pulls at her lips.

Curiosity gets the best of you, and as you press your hand to your belly, you ask, “What?”

“You are having a boy-,” the old woman smacks Wanda’s arm gently and gives her a look of displeasure, “Sorry, she hates it when I do that, but I am never wrong.”

“A midwife-in-training and a seer, how ambitious,” you quip with a warm smile, garnering a laugh from Wanda. A shuffle from the door has everyone’s heads turning. Bucky, no longer wearing the clothes he traveled in nor the flowers he was given, but instead his dark black suit of armor, stops in his tracks when he sees you are not alone. 

Quickly, Wanda says, “We will be back to check on you, your highness, welcome home,” as she loops her arm with her mentor’s and leads her to the exit. Bucky steps to the side and watches them go before closing the door behind them. You are too focused on your bump to pay attention, wondering if Wanda’s prediction is true as Bucky comes to stand before you. His hands are not big enough to cover your stomach anymore, but the cool metal of his armor feels good on your stretched skin. You cup his cheeks while he presses his forehead to yours.

“Did you hear what one of my midwives said?” you murmur, trying to distract yourself from the sadness of Bucky leaving bubbling in your chest like acid. He pulls his forehead away from yours to shake his head no, blue eyes staring deeply at you. “She said it is going to be a boy.”

His small smile spreads into a grin, eyes sparkling in the candlelight as he looks down at your stomach. “A boy…” he whispers to himself, enthralled by the life he helped create within you. 

Tears roll down your cheeks, the strength of the bittersweet feeling causing your chest to ache. Thumb swiping across his smiling bottom lip, you lift his face, so his eyes lock with yours again. With a strained voice from the lump in your throat, you say, “Promise me you’ll come back to us.”

“I always will,” he says, tilting his head to kiss your palm, “If… I’m not there when he’s born, will you name him George? After my father?”

“Of course,” you smile sweetly, hoping in this moment that your baby will have his father’s blue eyes that mean so much to you. 

“Oh, (Y/N),” he breathes, and pulls you as close to him as his armor and your bump will allow, “I never thought I could love anything as much as I love you.” This sets you over the edge, tears flow freely, dripping down his metal chest. “I will be back as soon as I can, I love you, I love you so much,” he repeatedly soothes as he presses kisses into your hair. 

You wish you could have spent more time with him in Sokovia before he left, but you know he has to go in order for there to still be a Sokovia. Taking the flower that was tucked behind your ear, you put it in his hair while your crying subsides. “I love you too,” you whimper before he quickly catches your lips in his, savoring every single second with you before he must go. From your open window, you can hear the first set of soldiers preparing to leave, only waiting for their king to come lead them to victory. You pull away reluctantly and release his face from your hold. Saying your final goodbyes hurts like a knife in the chest, but you know that it will not be for long. He will come home to you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey………… get ready for the angst  
> If you want to earn a free request be a frequent commenter on my fics!


	17. Chapter 17

Wave after wave of English and Sokovian teams have been released from the castle these past three weeks, sweeping the island for civilians and small Hydra factions to turn around. The hardest part has been to keep the body count as low as possible, but as the seaside capital and the castle fill up with your now safe people, you know you have Bucky to thank. The men tricked by Hydra into joining a fight they have no say in have been sent to the ships you came in on, the focus to undo any brainwashing they were given. You do not know how well they are doing, as the boats have been moved and they are not allowed anywhere near you or the castle. 

As your belly and unborn baby grow bigger and heavier, you have had to cut down your duties per your body’s and Wanda’s request. She has been doting on you almost every day and you have grown to appreciate her friendship. Although you cannot converse as much as you want to with her mentor, Wanda has taught you some simple motions with your hands to at least have basic communication. The elder can easily read your lips, so the little signing lessons are more for you to understand them then to be able to execute them perfectly.

In addition to Wanda, Steve has been an enormous help to you regarding castle life. As he was previously captain of the castle guards for Peggy, you can tell why he received such a high title at a young age. However, you have both gotten letters from Bucky from the latest families he sent to you stating that the end of the battle was near and that Steve was needed. This will potentially leave you vulnerable while the final fight takes place, but you trust your Sokovian guards who not only stand outside the protective walls, but guard whatever room you are in. 

The one thing that has been weighing heavily on your heart is your sister by marriage, Rebecca. None of the soldiers nor townspeople have heard anything about her as if she just stopped existing. You know that Bucky must be going out of his mind with all the possibilities of where she may be. It has been disheartening to say at the least, but you have not given up hope.

Today, your ladies in waiting are helping you dress, a dark grey outfit that covers most of your skin with a red veil and a belt of rubies that rests just before your stomach curves. The sleeves are red up to your elbows as well, and this is one of the last dresses that Peggy had bought for you when she first found out you were pregnant. The only reason you are wearing the veil today is because you will be passing out loaves of bread to the rehomed citizens in front of your castle, and Wanda suggested you wear it to prevent any sickness.

You are tuning out the chatter of your ladies while they finish dressing you. The last thing to do is to slide the ruby ring onto your finger, but it now has to reside on your pinky, as the baby has made your digits swell. They are currently guessing when the baby will be born, what time, how big it will be, and other things that will reveal themselves in due time. They will never mention it in your presence, but you know they are betting money on some of the categories. You also know that Wanda will win every single one of them. Something about that girl, she always seems to know what is going to happen before it does. 

She was very adamant about you going out to feed your people who need help _today_. Not wanting to ask too many questions, you simply went along with it, knowing she would never put you in any danger. The whole castle has smelled of yeast and freshly baked bread all day, and you are excited to see those who you have not for a few seasons. The ladies help you up and as a group you all start walking towards the exit. The presence of the guards following you from room to room is soothing even if they keep a respectful distance. You think they are also in on the betting pool.

Before leaving the castle, your group stops by the kitchen to get baskets upon baskets of just baked bread safe under cloth. It feels good to have one basket under each arm, the heavenly smell and warmth radiating through you. Thankfully, you do not have to travel far to deliver the bread, as many tents have been set up just outside the castle. Many families are outside, waiting for you and you are pleased that you can recognize almost all of them. At the smell and the swell of sound, many others leave the tents to come see what the commotion is about.

Everyone is grateful for your gifts of bread, and one of your ladies has a basket full of fruit for the children. Although they are a bit miffed at being relocated, they have been assured it is not for long and are being treated well under the shadow of your castle. You would not have it any other way, and you know that your parents would be proud of you for protecting their people. 

Some women give a quick blessing over your stomach, praying for a healthy heir to your throne. Curious children ask why you are so round, much to their parents’ dismay, but you only laugh and give them their bread. There are women who are just as heavily pregnant as you, and you sneak them some extra rations with a knowing look, and a silent blessing over their unborn babies.

Your heart has felt so full here that it may burst. Even with the piece of your soul missing, you know he is only on the other side of the island, and you have a part of him within you. Your mind has started to wander as the contents of your basket dwindles. The last roll of bread is in your hands, outstretched towards a sitting young woman who does not hold the same recognition, but has a distant familiarity. 

She is covered in dirt, wearing no shoes and a torn dress that looks as though it was at some point beautiful. Behind matted hair and a bruised face, she glances at you before taking the bread and devouring it right then and there. She looks much worse for wear than anyone else here, and there is something about her striking blue eyes.

All at once it hits you, and in a hushed voice you ask, “Rebecca? Rebecca Barnes?”

Your heart aches for her as she stops mid-bite and slowly looks up at you. With an expression mixed with horrified and hopeful, she swallows what was in her mouth and whimpers, “H-How do you know my name?”

Dropping your empty baskets and deftly flipping up your veil, you have to fight back the tears, “Rebecca, I am Bucky’s wife, I’m your family.”

The welling of your eyes must trigger her tears as she scrambles to her feet to hug you. You collect her in your arms, letting her cry into your dress and rubbing her back. As you turn your head to rest your cheek against her hair, you see your startled ladies in waiting. “Finish giving out the bread, and someone go tell Steve that Duchess Rebecca has been found,” you command, Rebecca practically melding into your body and refusing to let go. 

Once you are able to get her to calm down some, you quickly walk her back inside, taking her to your living quarters. She is not able to answer any questions at the moment, just happy to have been found. You leave her alone with a maid to bathe her, but you stay posted outside the door. Biting your lip and twirling your ring, you start to wonder how you will tell Bucky just as someone runs down the hall towards you.

“Oh, Steve,” you breathe after jumping while he apologizes for startling you.

“Is she in there? Is she okay?” the blond seems worried sick with a wild look in his blue eyes.

You nod to answer both of his questions, then glance down at his half put on suit of armor, “Are you leaving soon?”

He sighs in relief then confirms your thoughts, “Yes, tonight, we will ride quickly to tell Bucky the good news.”

Smiling softly, you can feel your eyes tearing up once again, “Good, he should hear it from you and not a letter. But, you need to stay safe out there too, okay? I have heard we lost a couple of men yesterday and Peggy would never let me hear the end of it if you came back with so much as a scratch.”

He laughs at the mention of his wife, who he knows is worrying over him oceans away, “Of course, and I will give Bucky your love.”

“Thank you,” you say as you touch his arm in appreciation. He smiles down at you, and glances at the door between him and Rebecca before saying goodbye and taking off as Bucky did almost a month ago. 

However, you are not standing alone in the hallway for long, as the maid opens the door and lets you back in soon after Steve takes his leave. You hold your breath as you walk in and finally see Rebecca for what feels like the first time. She is sitting at your vanity, looking at herself in the mirror. Rosy cheeks no longer caked in dirt, and her drying hair is curling the way it used to. Even darkened by water, you can tell that she has a deeper shade of brown hair than her brother, and it curls rather than his soft waves. But there is no mistaking the blue of her eyes, just like the ocean, just like Bucky, and as she turns to look at you, they are just as tortured.

You pull a chair up to sit next to her as the maid shuts the door behind her, letting you have some privacy. Rebecca is smiling gratefully at you as you get yourself comfortable. She is also the one to break the silence, reaching over and taking both of your hands in hers as she says, “I have heard so much about you.”

“As have I,” you reply, happy to feel that her hands are no longer ice cold against your skin. 

“Thank you for seeing me,” she says with watery eyes.

“I would recognize those eyes anywhere,” you muse, and although she is smiling, it looks pained. “What happened?” you venture quietly.

Shaking her head, she looks back at herself in the mirror. “They stopped giving me Bucky’s letters, and I knew something was wrong,” she starts, only looking at her reflection, as if she does not believe she is really here, “Then they would not let me leave the French castle, and then they locked me in my room. No one checked on me and no one seemed to care. They forgot to feed me for days, they would not let me bathe, and no one would even meet my eyes when they did come in.

“I truly did not mind living there. They had always treated me kindly, even spoiling me sometimes. But more and more strange men began filling out the parliament and whispering into the king’s ear. Sometimes you can just tell that people are evil. They did not like how I asked questions, they did not like how I had opinions, and they did not like that I was English.” 

You can only silently hold onto her hands tighter as she speaks. Her treatment venturing into something that her brother had experienced in the war and now they are more connected in a way you wish they never had been. Your chest hurts while she recalls what happened as best as she can.

“They treated me worse than a slave. They treated me as though I did not exist. After starving and living in my own filth for months they finally took me out and shackled me in the storage hold of a ship. I don’t know how long I was down there. It was so dark, and damp. I had to… I had to eat rats because no one came back down there until we were in Sokovia. Then they just left me on the beach and told me that no one would ever know who I was, no one would ever remember me. And I believed them,” her voice wavers at the end, and thick tears are rolling down her face. 

You lean closer and pull her back to your body. Cradling her against your chest you let her sob into your skin once again. As you stroke her hair, you are thankful that Steve left before knowing what Hydra did to her, because if Bucky were to find out, there would be no survivors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rebecca is finally here! And I started university this week, but I am determined to finish this damn story lmao!  
> If you want to earn a free request be a frequent commenter on my fics!


	18. Chapter 18

**Bucky's POV**

Everything feels as though it is finally falling into place. It has been almost a week since Bucky sent the most important letter he has ever written to Steve, calling for the final battle. He has scoured every inch of the island and every Sokovian he has met has been sent to the safety of the castle. For now, he waits with his mismatch team from both countries at the rendezvous point. Something in his bones this morning told him to ready his men, and now, he stands on top of a vantage point in his suit of armor, looking over the horizon. 

The ocean can be barely made out from this far into the island, but he can still see that glimmer of water and it calms him, reminding the man that you are not too far away. He sees movement in the distance and a smile spreads across his lips. Quickly, he climbs down from his perch and alerts his team. The men he set out with a month ago are exhausted, dirty, and homesick. But just as he has, they have been temporarily rejuvenated by the idea of finishing the war. 

“The king of England is coming, we’re almost ready boys!” Bucky calls out and is met with a few cheers. While he picks up his sword and sheaths it to his armor, his smile never fades. Even when he sees a pair of feet sticking out from behind a large rock, amusement is present instead of annoyance. 

Moving around the rock, he sees who the sleeping culprit is, a Sokovian boy with the strangest silver hair and a smart mouth, Pietro. Bucky would never tell him this, but he and his deadpan jokes and swift feet are his favorite among the ragtag team. He nudges the knocked-out boy with his foot until Pietro jolts up, exclaiming, “I’m awake!”

“You are now,” Bucky says as he offers an arm to help him up, “Come on, I think we can end this by tonight.”

Although sleepy, Pietro looks bright eyed at the thought of being able to return home. He and the rest of Bucky’s team gathers their few supplies they had set out for the night in their makeshift camp. Once they are all packed and the horses are ready to travel, Steve and his team arrive.

The blond dismounts his horse and after an awkward armored embrace, Bucky can tell that something is caught on the tip of his best friend’s tongue. “What is it? Did the baby come?” he asks, his blue eyes flickering quickly across Steve’s face for any kind of answer.

With a short laugh and a shake of his head, the other man answers, “Not yet, she’s getting close though.” The smile on Steve’s face is suspiciously happy for the situation they are in, and all Bucky can do is try to read his expression before the blond continues, “You have one hell of a wife, Buck, she found Rebecca.”

“What?” is all Bucky can choke out as an overwhelming feeling of relief washes over him, threatening to pull him out to sea. He covers his mouth as his eyes fall to the ground. All this time and energy was spent worrying over his sister he swore to protect and failed. There are a million questions running across his mind, but the only one he truly wants to know is what he is able to ask, “Is she okay?”

“(Y/N)’s taking care of her, I don’t know how well she is, but she’s safe,” Steve smiles as a few tears of relief roll down Bucky’s cheeks. The brunet quickly wipes them away and sniffs, pulling Steve into another hug to celebrate the good news. With a pat to the other’s back, Steve’s voice drops, and he orders, “Come on now, we have a war to win.”

The now conjoined team is prepared to leave, and Bucky enjoys the confidence boost of having his best and most trusted friend by his side. He is also anxious to finish what he started and get back to you, but he knows he cannot rush these events, everything has to happen perfectly in order for him to return. Throughout the ride to where he knows Rumlow’s camp is, Bucky is quiet, letting Steve and Pietro talk as he thinks of you.

\--

Bucky never thought that the end would seem so fulfilling. The final battleground takes place on the grassy slopes of the island, and although he and his team are sweaty, dirty, and bruised, they stand tall in front of the last section of Hydra. Steve stands to his right and Pietro to his left, and the most satisfying thing of all is Rumlow on his knees in front of him. 

All around him are the rest of the hybrid English and Sokovian teams, the Valkyrie, and the Wakandans, holding the Hydra army hostage. Thor and T’Challa are somewhere on the field, standing proudly with their armies as they watch the final villain be turned. The Valkyrie did better than expected as double agents, and most of the turned Hydra men on the English ships are thanks to them. As promised, Wakanda prevented any back-up from arriving, any ship or crew that was sent to Sokovia with ill intentions never reached the sandy shores. And all of this was done with most likely the fewest casualties in recent history. But, the blood lust for seeing Brock’s dead and broken body has gotten the better of Bucky.

“Any last words?” the king of Sokovia asks, the tip of his sword pressing on Rumlow’s throat, forcing him to look up and meet Bucky’s penetrating gaze.

“You will never win,” the Hydra agent spits, “Cut off one head and three will take its place.”

Leaning forward ever so slightly causing the metal tip to draw a drop of blood, Bucky replies, “Do you see any heads rolling yet? Yours will be the only one, and that is why you have failed.”

“You had the axe taken to Pierce, and the three from him was all I needed,” the smug look from the man on his knees makes a foreboding feeling come over Bucky.

“Wha-?” he is unable to finish his question as Brock raises one of his fists into the air and brings the other hand’s fingers to his mouth. A high-pitched whistle pierces the battleground, echoing over the hills in a haunting melody. Triggered by the sound, three from the group of Valkyrie that were holding the rest of the Hydra agents back fall to the ground, fingers scratching at their ears and screaming. Bucky watches in horror before dropping his sword and grabbing Brock by the neck in anger to cease the whistle.

But the damage has been done, suddenly freed, five of the Hydra men grab their bows and draw them. Steve tries to yell a warning, but the arrows are flying through the sky in a heartbeat. Looking up from Brock’s grin, Bucky sees the arrows, like birds of prey diving down for the kill. He closes his eyes for the impact, but only feels a shove to his side and dirt in his mouth. 

There is an ominous ringing in his ears from the shock of silence everyone is under. A part of him just wants to lie there, so whatever happened cannot make itself known to him, but he knows he must move and face it like a man, like a king. He tilts his head up to look, and his stomach drops when he sees that silver hair that has become so familiar. 

The energy of the hills changes in a snap as everyone begins to move. Pietro drops to his knees and looks down to his stomach, the gap in his armor that two of the arrows have gone through enough for Bucky to see the pointed heads, covered in his soldier’s blood. Steve rushes over to Pietro’s side just as the boy starts tipping forward, catching him in his arms. Once leaning into the blond, Steve and Bucky see the three other arrows buried in the back of Pietro’s armor, the steel tips of the heads and the close distance with which they were fired causing all three of them to break through the metal and into his body. 

The ringing transforms into the Valkyrie’s battle cries as they go to help their brainwashed sisters and to subdue the Hydra men. The clattering of metal armor and the sounds of boots kicking up dirt plays slowly in Bucky’s ears as he watches Steve lay the boy down to the ground, knowing that life has left him before he is laid to rest. This commotion has upset the plans so carefully set for finishing the battle but seeing Pietro’s lifeless body sets a new fire of anger ablaze in Bucky’s chest. 

Gritting his teeth, he reaches out for the sword he dropped and attempts to sit up. But his searching fingers find nothing and a heavy foot falls on his chest plate, forcing him back to the ground. Sinister eyes glare down at him as Rumlow swiftly lifts Bucky’s sword. “I have to finish what I started,” the man says hastily before Steve notices what is happening and lurches away from Pietro’s body, drawing his own sword.

As Rumlow brings the sword down with as much strength as he can, aimed for Bucky’s heart, Steve makes contact with him. Brock once again misses his mark, the blow from Steve making the tip of the sword slip and Bucky feels the white-hot pain of the metal slipping through his armor and burying itself into his already damaged left shoulder. 

After a few seconds, Bucky cannot even feel the pain anymore, he cannot feel anything in his arm at all. In this moment he knows it is worse than the jousting accident, and he feels true fear. He tilts his head and watches the blood flow from his dead limb and the immense sense of dread and hopelessness that overcomes him is worse than any pain. As his consciousness fades, like he is simply falling asleep, he thinks of you, heavy with his child, waiting for him to come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(  
> If you want to earn a free request, be a frequent commenter on my fics!  
> 


	19. Chapter 19

The pain is unlike anything you have ever experienced. It started yesterday morning; what seemed like a bad cramp made you wince every so often. But now, 30 hours later, you are running on no sleep and the contractions are closer than ever. You wish you had more time to get to know Rebecca before the pain started, as she has been following every one of Wanda’s commands and has been by your side all night. The love she is giving you is more than that of someone who you just met, it is sisterly. She lets you squeeze her hand tightly while the elderly midwife and Wanda check your progress. 

“It is going to be soon,” Wanda says with a smile, “You are doing a great job, your majesty.”

Rebecca pats the back of your hand proudly and gleams at you, clearly very excited to be an aunt. All of this commotion around you and the soon-to-be-born baby has helped distract your sister-in-law from what happened, and she is grateful. However, you are still worried, “Are you sure it’s not too soon?”

“The baby will be coming early, but I have no doubt that he will be the epitome of health,” Wanda assures you as her mentor nods and rests her hand momentarily on your stomach. She signs something to Wanda and the redhead adds, “The baby is in the perfect position and she thinks it will be a quick delivery.”

“Quick?” Rebecca chimes in, “It’s been over a day.”

“Queen (Y/N) will not have to wait much longer,” Wanda soothes as another contraction starts and you suck in a breath of pain.

\--

Bucky’s pain is unbearable. He does not know what happened while he was drifting into unconsciousness, but the searing hot pain of a heated sword against his wound rouses him back to the world of the living. Putting hot metal to an open wound is something Sokovians have been practicing for decades to combat bleeding out from an unfortunate slice of a fish-gutting knife, but that does not mean they have been able to stop the pain. Even before opening his eyes, Bucky begins to scream out in pain. He can hear a familiar voice in the back of his mind, but he cannot stop yelling. 

“ _Bucky_ ,” the warped voice says his name, and as he opens his eyes, blond hair comes into focus. He throws his head around and blinks wildly, a momentary stop from the screaming as he tries to stop his eyes from blurring. To his left, he sees Pietro’s body, the ocean wind running through the silver hair. Bucky jerks his head to the right, only to be met with the dead eyes of Rumlow, his head completely free from his body, and Bucky starts screaming again.

“Bucky,” the voice repeats calmly, a lot clearer now and he can recognize his best friend’s tone, “Bucky, stay with us.” He stops screaming to focus on Steve’s voice, but as soon as he stops making noise, everything around him starts to go black again. 

\--

“Keep going, keep going!” Wanda urges you until you cannot hold your breath any longer and your body relaxes, “That was a good push, you are doing so well, my queen.”

Rebecca dabs your sweaty forehead with a cold rag, and you tilt your head to look up at her, catching your breath. She has been so diligent, and even through the bruising to her face, you can see the determination. “Rebecca,” you say in a hurried breath before the next wave of pain comes, “You do not have to stay with me, I know this is hard to watch.”

She simply smirks at you before returning the rag the bowl of cold water. As she takes your hand once again, she replies, “I am not going anywhere, everyone deserves to have someone by their side.” 

You smile at her before wincing, the pain returning all too quickly. “Oooh, I thought you said this would be quick, Wanda!” you snap at your midwife who simply gives you a meek glance. Rebecca holds tightly onto you as you focus all of your energy on another push. This time, the elderly midwife presses her hands against the top of your stomach, as if adding another form of pushing. The pressure makes it hurt more, but you don’t question the woman who has helped birth countless of healthy Sokovian infants. 

Nevertheless, you are terrified. You think of all of the stress that you have been put through during your pregnancy and how little your baby has shown himself throughout the months. You pray that he is born powerful like Wanda and Rebecca predict, that he is a strong and silent type as is his father.

\--

The next time Bucky wakes, he is being pulled in the back of a cart, with a blanket laid over his body. The wooden wheel hits a rock and causes a jolt strong enough to disturb Bucky. The pain is still there, but it does not hurt enough for Bucky to yell, only for him to whimper every time the cart jostles his body. He feels lighter and realizes that his armor and weapons have been stripped of him. The cart takes a sharp right turn, causing Bucky to cry out in pain. 

“Whoa,” Steve calls to his horse and to the driver of the cart, causing everyone in the moving party to stop. He jumps off his saddle and comes quickly to Bucky’s side. Bucky’s vision is still murky, but he can see the amount of blood- most likely a sickly mixture of his, Pietro’s, and Brock’s- drenching his undershirt. “Are you with me?” Steve asks, checking the mental viability of Bucky.

With a groan, and a moment to form words, Bucky asks, “What… where are we going?”

“Back to the castle,” Steve asks after sighing in relief that Bucky can speak, “We have to move quickly, to get you to a doctor.”

A doctor. Bucky thinks about the shock and pain that is currently radiating throughout his entire body, and he is unsure as to if a doctor will be able to do something. But he is pleased that he is being taken back to his wife’s castle so that he may be able to see you one last time if the pain takes complete control over him. He nods in understanding, and Steve whistles for the caravan to keep moving, climbing back on his horse and galloping to lead the way. 

\--

“I can see the head!” Wanda announces after a few more hours of hard pushing. At this point, you are exhausted, barely able to comprehend the words she is saying to you. You are drenched completely in sweat, and no amount of cold rags from Rebecca is able to cool you down. 

As her exclamation sinks in, you burst into tears, “I-I can’t do it anymore, I’m so tired.”

Rebecca shushes you before enveloping you into a hug. You cry against her dress like she did to you a couple of days ago. As she rubs your aching back, you think about how you could not have come this far into your delivery without her. You do not even get a moment to sob and feel sorry for yourself when another contraction rips through your body. You break away from Rebecca long enough to meet the older midwife’s eyes.

 _It’s time_ , she signs to you, and the silent response is welcomed before your scream pierces the quiet room. You bare down as hard as you possibly can with the end in sight. This is the final push regardless of if the baby comes because this is the last bit of energy you have left. You can feel Rebecca’s arms around you, supporting you through the blinding pain, until you feel a sudden release of pressure and gasp in relief.

Everyone is suspended in silence until a soft cry fills your ears and Wanda exclaims, “It’s a boy!”

The redhead quickly wraps your baby in a blanket, calming him down with a tight swaddle as the old midwife cuts the cord, her face wrinkled further with her triumphant grin. You lay there with your chest heaving, watching as Wanda smiles down at the bundle in her arms before passing him to Rebecca. Visibly choking back tears, Rebecca stares down at him in wonderment until you get your breath back. She looks over at you, holding her nephew closely to her chest as she says, “Oh, (Y/N), he’s so beautiful.” 

You reach your arms out for him, the exhaustion of his birth a thing of the past as all you want is your baby close to you. Rebecca carefully rests him against your chest, and you gasp when you see your baby’s face for the first time. She is right, he is the most perfect baby you have ever laid eyes on, and you cannot help the tears rolling down your cheeks. You have never loved anything as much as you love this little thing you and Bucky created. 

All of the pain and discomfort is forgotten now that he is here and in your arms. You stare in wonderment as you brush your fingers through the wisps of brown hair and over his soft cheek. His little mouth opens in response and he grabs at your fingers until you press your pinky into his tiny fist. Wanda was right, he is strong. As he suckles at your finger, you remember that there are other people in the room.

The women are all lovingly watching you bond with your newborn. When you smile at Rebecca, she asks, “Did you and my brother already choose a name?”

With a nod and a short clearing of your throat, you answer confidently, “His name is George. George Buchanan Barnes.”

\--

It must be evening when Bucky wakes again. Thankfully, he is no longer rested on the cart but now laying on a bed. He can feel the ocean breeze through the cracked window that also flickers the flames of the candlelight. Blinking to adjust his eyes, he shifts softly under the covers of the unfamiliar bed. The fresh air feels good, so he tilts his head towards the window, catching the sight of Steve fast asleep on a chair in the corner of the window. 

His best friend looks more exhausted than he has ever seen him. Steve did not completely pull off his armor before he passed out, the metal on his shins glinting in the candlelight. There is dried blood on his hands and in his hair. Once Bucky becomes more aware of his surroundings, he realizes he is back in your castle and that his shoulder is bandaged.

The pain of course starts to return with the consciousness, and he wishes he had stayed asleep. The groans are unable to be kept quiet, causing Steve to rouse in the chair. Unlike in the cart, Bucky can feel the pain localized in his shoulder and back. It hurts more than any other wound he has ever endured. 

Once awake, Steve is immediately at his friend’s side, his hand pressing on the center of Bucky’s chest to stop him from moving too much. “Do not hurt yourself further,” he says quietly, his hand feeling like a weight and ceasing all movement.

Bucky’s mind is swarming from yesterday’s events, unsure of what he fever-dreamed in his pained state and what really happened. “Did you finish it? Is it over?” he asks, desperate to know if this has all been worth it, and that his wife and your country are safe. 

“It is done. Rumlow is dead, and Thor and T’Challa are on their way to France to help them reform…” Steve trails off, pulling his hand back to his side once Bucky’s restless squirming has stopped. 

“Pietro?” Bucky questions with a tight jaw, knowing what happened but needing confirmation. With a shake of Steve’s head, Bucky turns his head back to the ceiling, the pain in his shoulder forgotten from the pain in his heart. 

“Bucky, there is something else,” Steve says, his voice growing more and more quiet with every word, as though he wants to leave it unsaid. 

Blue eyes meet once again as Steve grips the edge of the blanket covering Bucky. He slowly pulls it down, the fabric catching on the bandages before revealing the source of all the pain. Steve cannot look his friend in the eye anymore, and Bucky’s stomach begins turning even before he looks down at his wound. There is nothing beyond the bandages of his shoulder. Where his left arm should be, there is nothing but emptiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for my super long hiatus, but ya girl got a 4.0 GPA her first quarter at University!  
> I’m back with a bittersweet dual chapter! Congrats on your new baby, but sorry your husband’s arm got stabbed off ://  
> If you want to earn a free request be a frequent commenter on my fics!


	20. Chapter 20

The following days are full of rest. For you, rest from birthing your heir, and for Bucky, rest from the injuries he sustained ending the war. The remainder of the castle, however, has been busy in the final days of war, British soldiers readying to leave and Sokovian citizens returning to their homes. By your elderly midwife’s request, no one has told you, Rebecca, or Wanda anything to allow you have the best care possible and to bond with the newborn.

You finally felt strong enough this morning to get up, wash the grime of childbirth off of you, and give George his first bath. Clean and refreshed, you lay in bed with him sleeping soundly next to you. Rebecca sits in a chair beside your bed, reading the backlog of letters Bucky wrote to her but never made it to France. 

Every so often, she glances up from the stationary to check on you and her nephew. She is just as enamored as you are with the new baby. As her face heals, you can better see her features light up when he gurgles at her or nuzzles into her warmth. George is a point of healing for her. The little life she is connected to is a reminder that all the pain she went through was worth it. He is also a source of relief, as the burden of an heir is officially off her shoulders now that he has been born healthy. 

You realize you have been staring at your new sister for the past few minutes when Wanda enters the room and draws your attention away from Rebecca. Your young midwife comes right up to the side of your bed and inspects the baby for any signs of something wrong. She always finds nothing. Although he was born earlier than anticipated, he is strong and healthy, albeit small but that just makes him easier to hold. 

“I think it is time for you to get some exercise,” Wanda says softly, and Rebecca immediately tucks away the letters and stands. The redhead easily scoops up George into her arms, wrapping the small blanket tighter around him as Rebecca comes to your side. 

You groan as she helps you out of bed. “I am sorer than I have ever felt.”

“Even more of a reason for you to take a walk,” Rebecca chimes in, wise for her young age. She helps you into a robe suitable for wandering around in before linking her arm in yours. All you can give her is a smile, your body uncomfortable with the sudden changes, but you are grateful for her assistance and company. 

The three of you and the baby leave your room and venture down the corridor. There is a buzz of conversation and energy in the lower levels of the castle that you can feel beneath your feet. Thankfully, the upper living quarters have been mostly emptied out and are now quiet. Except one room, that a familiar face is standing outside of, his arms crossed and carrying sullen expression. 

“Steve!” you call out to him and he lifts his head up to meet your smile.

His eyes dart between the members of the group as he approaches you, and he looks unsure if to smile back, laugh, or cry. You have a million questions for him, but you can tell that he has a million worries weighing on him. He walks over and returns your greeting, “Queen (Y/N)-” 

Rebecca lets go of your arm to embrace him and interrupt, “I am so glad you are back unscathed!”

“I wish I could say the same to you,” he replies with a grim smirk, as he stops hugging her and brushes a brunette curl out of her face to expose the yellowing bruises. She bats his hand away and smacks his chest with a cousinly scolding. “And who is this?” he says with a more genuine smile as he gestures to the bundle in Wanda’s arm.

“Prince George, after Bucky’s father,” you beam, taking your baby from Wanda and loosening the blanket from around his face so Steve can get a better look.

“He looks just like his father,” Steve says, resting his hand fondly on your shoulder.

“Speaking of Bucky, when did you return? Did he not join you?” Your questions cause a flash of pain on Steve’s face that sends a jolt to your chest. 

Rebecca catches it too and asks, “Where is he?” 

All Steve has to do is point towards a room and she races off. You would run after her if not for your aching body and the baby in your arms. But, just as you turn to follow, Steve addresses your midwife, “Are you Wanda Maximoff?”

She breathes a sigh of relief when he speaks to her, as if she was holding her breath the whole time, “Yes, is Pietro back too?”

His lack of an answer makes you stop and turn back to your faithful midwife. She is looking up at him with such expectant, hopeful eyes. You have not known Steve for long, but he would never try to be cruel and draw out a positive response on purpose. As he struggles for the right way to tell her, your heart drops. 

“I am so sorry,” he says softly, and as he explains what happened further you can see the light leave Wanda’s eyes. Once Steve is done talking, you thank him, dismissing him to leave you and Wanda alone. Before he leaves, he whispers, “Come find me later, Wanda, so we can finish the burial with your blessing.” He carries the same guilt he had when Bucky was injured by his lance, and he sulks off, but you know he will do right by Wanda and her family.

You cannot do much with George in your arms, but you free one hand to pull her to you. Tears fall from her cheeks and into your robe. You are both quiet for a while until the baby starts to stir between you and Wanda. She pulls away and rests her hand over his head to calm him. Her smile is bittersweet, and when she meets your eyes, there is a sense of calm behind them.

“I knew,” she whispers. She truly is a seer. “I needed to hear it be spoken.”

“Whatever you need-” you start, and she shakes her head to stop you. 

Wanda’s thin fingers stroke George’s cheek as he starts fussing, and she just smiles down at him. “My brother was not meant for this time nor this life. He is at peace now.”

Pulling her in for another hug, you can feel her trembling under your touch. George begins to cry, and Wanda parts from you, shushing to soothe him. “I think he is anxious to meet his father.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

She nods and lets George suckle on her finger to quiet him. “Thank you for everything, your majesty. Now that the war is over, my mentor and I must go back to our duties to Sokovia.” Your eyes widen in surprise, unsure of what to do without the help of a midwife, and Wanda picks up on your worry. “You are a wonderful mother, and the prince will have nothing but vitality. I have seen it.” 

Her promises alleviate the shock, but as she takes a step back, you know you are going to miss her dearly. She gives you one last nod before disappearing down the hall to find her mentor and Steve. Once her brother is properly buried you know she will go back to the countryside to help the other expecting women. It gives you a sense of peace that the children and mothers of your country are in her capable hands. You stand in the hallway and watch her until she disappears from your sight, George falling asleep in your arms as you sway gently. 

Rebecca emerges from the room down the hall she ran to, the room that your husband is in. She calls out your name, and when you turn to face her, she beckons you over with open arms. As you approach the room, Rebecca takes the baby from you. Her expression is completely unreadable as she lets her hair fall over her face and brush against her nephew’s blanket, just as her brother would do when he wanted to hide his emotions from you. 

After your arms are free you enter the room. The window overlooking the ocean is open, and the glare from the sun is bright. Blinking a few times, you take another step forward until you see Bucky sitting at the foot of the bed, his chest bare and his right arm gripping the sheet underneath him. 

Despite your aching body, you run to him and throw your arms around his neck. Tears flow freely from your cheeks as you feel an arm wrap tightly around your back. You did not realize just how much you missed him until you saw him. Your face is buried in his hair as you cry, and you can feel your husband’s lips against your neck and shoulder. It takes all of your willpower to part from him and get a good look at him. 

As soon as your face leaves his hair, you see the bandages wrapped around his chest. Your gaze follows it to his left shoulder and then nothing. Eyes widening and mouth gaping, you cannot help but cry harder. You cover your mouth as you shake your head. “B-Bucky, I-I am so sorry.”

When you finally meet his eyes, you can see they are full of relief that you are safe but have hints of grief and exhaustion. “Why are you sorry?” he asks you as he tries to wipe away the seemingly never-ending tears that are like rivers on your cheeks. 

Your fingers ghost the bandages covering what you assume is a brutal wound as you sob out, “I-It is my fault, i-it is all my fault.”

Bucky cannot help but laugh as he pulls you back to him with his one arm and whispers against your hair, “I would give up more than an arm for you, my darling.” Your upheaval in emotions has somehow calmed him from everything that he was feeling about losing his arm. Seeing you has made it all worth it.

You spend a little longer holding each other before you suddenly part and exclaim, “Oh!” You quickly dry your face against your robe and beckon Rebecca to come over with the baby. She reaches the bedside with a smile and holds her arms out for you to take George. Carefully, you part the blanket surrounding his little body and pull him out. He coos happily, and you turn back to Bucky, who is sitting dumbfounded, staring in wonderment at the little thing you are holding. “Bucky,” you say as you gently rest the baby in the crook of his father’s arm, “this is your son.”

You watch George look up at his father with identical eyes, and you see an expression that you have never witnessed on Bucky. He looks happier than you have ever seen, despite his loss during the war. Rebecca sits down next to her brother and rests her head against his shoulder, looking down fondly at her nephew. Your eyes well up again as you watch your family, and you feel a wave of love wash over you knowing that you can finally all be together. 

A few strands of hair fall in front of Bucky’s face, and you softly brush them back behind his ear. He looks up at you with a smile wide on his face and says, “You’ve given me everything… a crown, an heir, my sister… a life worth living.” 

You just nod and smile, unable to formulate words to express how pleased you are in this moment, until he looks back down at his son. Rebecca strokes George’s arm, and he grasps her finger in his tiny fist. Both she and Bucky laugh at the baby’s determination, and you can tell that everyone is lost in this perfect moment of reunion. 

You think about everything that it took to get to this point, all that was lost and all that was gained. Resting your hand against your heart, the ruby ring on your finger glistens in the sunlight, and your family sits happy and safe in your castle. Royalty matters little when all the riches in the world are in the people that you love. There is no more war, no more room in your heart for pain, suffering, and silence, only the love that you carry for the people that love you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the disappearance, but I hope you enjoy the ending to this labor of love! There will be a short epilogue coming (sooner than later hopefully). Thank you to everyone who has been here since the first few chapters and thank you to everyone who has read my fic, left kudos, and left comments. I love every single one of you!


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